


Running In Place

by cleiioo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aobajousai, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Runaway!Kyoutani, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleiioo/pseuds/cleiioo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyoutani had stopped going to volleyball practice, but he hadn't stopped going to volleyball, not entirely.  Mondays he would make it to the Seijou locker room and although his palms itched to feel the weight of a volleyball and the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor sent shivers up his spine, he never made it on to the court. Realistically there were only a few meters separating the two rooms but to Kyoutani it felt like miles. He wanted to be there, but he was here; close yet far. Here because he had things to do, places to be, jobs to work, and because; his locker was the safest place for him to keep what little valuables he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! In like life, and on Ao3 so I hope you like it. Barely edited, no beta so everything is on me! Sorry! Feel free to yell at me about anything. I hope you like it!!!

Kyoutani had stopped going to volleyball practice, but he hadn't stopped going to volleyball, not entirely.  Mondays he would make it to the Seijou locker room and although his palms itched to feel the weight of a volleyball and the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor sent shivers up his spine, he never made it on to the court. Realistically there were only a few meters separating the two rooms but to Kyoutani it felt like miles. He wanted to be there, but he was here; close yet far. Here because he had things to do, places to be, jobs to work, and because; his locker was the safest place for him to keep what little valuables he had.

Even when he had the time for practice, before he picked fights with third years and his father picked fights with him, he had been shoving little bits of himself into a small metal box, and then shoving that into an even larger metal box. He thought of the Russian dolls his mother had collected, that was him, fragmented and locked away bit by bit. The lock box contained all the papers that existed so you could claim that you did to: birth certificate, health card, social security number, passport.  Photos of when smiles came easy and he had both parents; not just the one, when he could tell you this is what love is, when he could tell you this is what a home looks like. A bottle of pills, prescribed for sleep or more so the lack of it. He doesn't take them often, but he doesn't sleep often either. Money, a substantial amount, for a boy who is seventeen and still in school. Some of it is stolen, most of it is earned. He would argue the stolen amount is earned too, earned for being born and legal papers that use the word  _bequeath_.

His father would disagree, had disagreed, had given Kyoutani a swollen lip and a limp that didn't heal for a week. He is sure that if given the opportunity his father would like to give him a lot more than that, so he didn't give him the chance. He left. He doesn't know if he's grateful that he's never come looking for him, or disappointed. These days he doesn't dwell on it.

He was here for the money; enough to give him food and shelter for the week, for transport to all four of the jobs he worked at various times and on various days. He had learned early and quick how to make a couple of dollars last a couple of days. He needed so much more than he had to spend.  So he worked, and he saved, and he spent the hours he couldn’t sleep (surrounded by other boys who could, who had problems worse than his or similar) thinking about a rundown apartment he would call home and maybe, just, maybe getting into university and maybe, getting to play volleyball some more, to be the ace he knew he could be.

Kyoutani had already unlocked his lock box, about to lift the lid when the door swung open. He hadn’t been prepared for that and sometimes loud noises still startled him. The lock box hit the floor with a loud clang, the papers, the photos and money spread out by his feet, while the pills rattled as the bottle rolled towards a pair of sneakers and toned calves. Kyoutani's heart stuttered and both boys made a startled sound.  

He blinked once, twice. His hands had started to shake, this wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be in and out, no one was supposed to know, especially not Yahaba Shigeru. Who now stood in doorway, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked over Kyoutani. The overhead lights illuminated the sheen of perspiration on his skin; they must have just finished warming up. Were more of his team mates on their way? He clenched his shaking fingers into fists and put on his best scowl.

Yahaba was no longer looking at him but at his feet, the spread of documents and money, then back down to his own and the bottle of pills. Kyoutani tracked the movements with feigned disinterest, but on the inside he was screaming.   When he regarded the other again his expression was no longer one of confusion but of rage. Kyoutani flinched, remembering hands on his shirt and his back against the wall. Something in his stomach coiled.

"You can't be bothered to come to practice..." Yahaba's voice is shaking, words accented in anger. "But you come into our locker room and do what? Hide your contraband!?"

Contraband? Pieces of him were mapped out on the locker floor and all Yahaba saw was contraband. How fitting, for the boy who made himself to look how he felt, jagged edges, warning signs, a dog ready to bite.  _Contraband._  That’s what he wanted people to think, wasn’t it? He wanted to laugh. He did. It came out wrong, high-pitched and hysterical. Kyoutani brought a shaking hand over his mouth, nails digging into his cheek as he attempted to silence it. This seemed to only spur Yahaba’s anger.

“Honestly I thought this was an act,” He made a gesture that Kyoutani assumed meant to summarize all of him. “I know you care about volleyball, you’re  _good_  at volleyball. And as much as you have an attitude problem I didn’t think you were actually some… vagrant! If you’re going to do illegal shit you should at least have the decency to leave the volleyball team out of it. Are you selling pills? Forging Fake I.Ds?” He punctuated each accusation by pointing towards the offending objects. “I can’t believe I’ve defended you.” And it was Yahaba who laughed this time, but it didn’t sound crazy, only disappointed.

His stomach twisted again, he was going to be sick. Yahaba had defended him. Why, to who and about what? Kyoutani wasn’t stupid; he’d heard the rumours about him. That’s what they were, rumours, but   he couldn’t be bothered to refute them. He would rather people thought the worst of him instead of  _knowing_  it. He didn’t want pity, so he took their spite.

He had to fix this but he didn’t know how.

“Don’t tell Oikawa.” He cringed as soon as he had said it. Wrong, that had been the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s wrong as soon as he hears the scoff in response. But this was also Yahaba, the boy who respected his senpais and shoved boys against walls to prove it. “Let me explain.”  

He kept his eyes on Yahaba, who responded with a vague wave of his hand. His eyes were burning holes into Kyoutani, he felt exposed, laid bare. He crouched down, collecting the money, the ids, and the photographs. Had he seen them? God he hoped he hadn’t seen the photographs. His face was on fire, his stomach in knots.

He was going to have to tell him the truth. He could lie but he felt he owed Yahaba honesty, honesty was all Yahaba seemed to give him. He didn’t want to disappoint him, he realized. He didn’t like how that felt. When was the last time he had cared about someone’s opinion of him? But he had defended him. When was the last time someone had stood up for him?  He picked up the lock box and put everything back in its place, photographs first and face down, looking at them only reminded him of what he had lost.  

“Look at the pill bottle. Read the label. “He closed his eyes, pressed his back against the cool metal of the lockers. He didn’t want anyone to know about this part of him, it wasn’t meant to be shared it was meant to be hidden. Click-clack-click. Kyoutani didn’t watch Yahaba reach for the bottle but he heard it, all twenty-three pills bouncing together.  When he left home he had fifty, he almost depleted the bottle the first month. After that he started counting, keeping track and learning how to ration. Now he saved them for exams, matches, birthdays.

“These are sleeping pills,” the anger had seemed to leave his voice, at least. “Your sleeping pills… Why would you need sleeping pills? Are you sell- “

“I’m  _not_  selling them.” He snapped his head forward, eyes cutting to Yahaba. “They’re mine. For me. I need them because…” he gestures at his head and hopes that’s enough of an explanation. He doesn’t say,  _Because I can’t turn of my thoughts, because I think too much: how much can I spend this week, how can I beat Iwaizumi at arm wrestling, can I finish my paper in time, am I going to fail biology, will there be a bed at the home tomorrow, where am I going to go if its full, what am I going to do if they cut my hours, was it my fault we lost, can I keep playing volleyball, can I get us to nationals, does he even miss me, is he sorry, can I fix this, am I going to make it to my twenties, am I going to make it, is anyone ever going to love me, am I going to survive this, is this even worth it, should I just --_

He looks away from Yahaba, clenching his eyes shut; they’re starting to sting so he digs his nails into his palms and bites his lip. “It’s all mine. The Ids are mine; the money is mine. I’m not some  _vagrant peddler_ , like you’ve  _ass_ umed. “

He can’t keep the anger out of his voice, but he can’t get it out of his bones either. It must be in his DNA. He’s angry at himself, for being in this situation, for having to play show and tell with a figurative gun to his head. He’s not angry at Yahaba, he doesn’t deserve his anger.   _Contraband, Mad Dog_ , they’re all fair assumptions. He deserves this. The room is silent in response, and when Kyoutani opens his eyes again Yahaba is kneeling in front of him holding the pill bottle out as a peace offering.  Slowly he accepts it, their fingers brush. Yahaba’s fingers are warm. He drops it into the lock box, everything back in its place. He regrets putting himself against the wall. Before he felt cornered, now he feels caged. But Yahaba doesn’t look angry anymore, just… kind.  He doesn’t know what to do with that, anger he understands, compassion is foreign.   
  
”I’m sorry. For calling you a vagrant,” The corners of his lips quirk up. “But you can’t deny this is suspicious. You won’t bother to come to practice yet here you are using the locker room as a hideout. Are you in trouble?”  

“Am I?” He will be, if the team finds out.

Yahaba regards him with an eye roll. “I don’t know what’s given you the opinion that I’m a tattle tale, but I can keep a secret.  Whatever is happening I want you to tell me, I want to help, if I can. But I’m not going to tell Oikawa-san or the others.”

Kyoutani lets out a loud breath of relief; he hadn’t realized he had stopped breathing. His gut does something that is borderline unpleasant.

“But I’m also not going to force you to tell me if you don’t want to.” Yahaba reaches his hand out as if to touch but quickly retracts it when Kyoutani flinches, his back pressing hard against metal.  Something flashes over the other boy’s face, but it’s gone before he can define it. He folds his hands in his lap and apologizes. Kyoutani can only assume what he looks like right now, eyes wild, his arms wrapped tightly around his sides; holding himself together. A mad dog comes to mind, is that all he is, all he can be?

“I’m going to be captain, next year. Oikawa-san insisted.  He’s been giving me DVDs of our matches and having me take notes. That’s why I’m here; I forgot them in my bag.”

Kyoutani doesn’t know why he’s being told this but he doesn’t interrupt the other boy. He watches Yahaba’s fingers as they idly trace patterns on the floor. He assumes he’s mapping out new plays. He’s going to make a good captain, he thinks.

“I’m going to be the setter and I need, I’m going to need an ace. “ He can feel Yahaba’s gaze on him but he refuses to meet it. He doesn’t know what he’ll see there, but he guesses its pity.

 He wants to say Kindachi will be make a good ace, but he doesn’t. He knows he can be the ace; that it’s his rightful place, the only time he can be honest about who he is. He doesn’t say that either.

 “I don’t think we can do this without you. I want to get us to nationals, I want to defeat Shiritorizawa and Karasuno for Oikawa-san, and I don’t want to  _lose_  again. But whatever it is that’s keeping you from coming to practice, I want to help fix it because the team needs you. Kentarou, I need  _you,_ to be my ace.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the use of his first name that does it, or the fact that he’s needed, wanted. Whatever had twisted inside of him unfurls so quick it’s enough to give him whiplash, he can feel his heart sinking and his ears hear the strangled sound the escapes his mouth but his brain can barely register it. His face feels hot and wet and he realizes he’s crying.  His hands are instantly on his face, fingers pressing sharply into his eyes trying to push the tears away; back in where they belong. This is what it feels like to snap, he guesses. This is what it feels like when you force everything down just for it to build up and overflow. He feels like he’s coming apart, like if he doesn’t stop there will be nothing left and then, then there are tentative arms encircling him and he smells sweat and lemon.  The initial contact makes him go completely rigid, he chokes out a sob, sharp desperate sounds, and the compassion (what is he supposed to do with that) just makes him cry harder.  

“Hey… shh. I’ve got you. You need to breathe okay. Can you do that for me?”

Kyoutani feels a hand touch the back of his neck and his forehead is pushed against Yahaba’s shoulder. Another is rubbing circles on his back.  This is too much, too fast. When was the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt, when was the last time he let himself cry?  He’s glad Yahaba can’t see his face; he manages a desperate gulp of air exhaling hard as pain sears through his throat.  Yahaba murmurs encouragement against his neck, he can feel the tips of his ears heat up. He repeats, in, out, in and out, until his shaking is more of a twitch and the tears have stopped coming.   How long have they been here, two boys kneeling on the locker room floor; one falling apart, the other holding him together.  It feels like years, it’s probably been minutes.  Yahaba pulls back from him, his hands travel until he feels them slip down to encircle his wrists, slowly pulling shaking hands from his face.

“Hey, Kentarou.”

He hiccups in response. Until today he didn’t think Yahaba even knew his name. 

“You’re okay. Can you look at me?” He shakes his head, no.  He’s just gotten his breathing under control, he’s worried eye contact will fracture whatever calm he’s slowly building up to.  Yahaba hums in reply, and begins to extract himself from him. The air shifts as he stands up and the silence is filled with the sound of joints cracking. The loss of contact hits him like a punch and he lets out a low whine that he’s immediately ashamed of.  But Yahaba is back in an instant, both of his hands cupping his face and forcing Kyoutani to look at him. He was afraid he’d see pity outlined on Yahaba’s face but it’s just unfiltered kindness. He doesn’t know what to do with it, Kyoutani’s heart pangs in response and he forces his eyes shut.

“I’m here, its okay. You’re okay. “He just nods weakly as Yahaba swipes his thumbs over his eyes, collecting up the tears.  His breath hitches.  “We should get you cleaned up though.”

“Yahaba.” His voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to him, like someone scraped his vocal cords raw. “Shigeru. Thanks.” He wants to say for calling me out, for holding me together, for not pitying me, for not forcing me to answer.  When Yahaba smiles back at him, he thinks he doesn’t have to.

“I’m going to get changed and give Oikawa-san the notes I took. I’m going to tell him—“  Kyoutani lets out a sharp breath and jerks forward, his gut instinct screaming run, but Yahaba shoves his hands down from his face to his shoulders, securing him in place. “No, no. Will you let me finish. I’m going to tell him I came to the locker room and checked my phone, that my mother called me about a family emergency and that I’m leaving early.”

Kyoutani gives a small nod in response, but doesn’t say anything so Yahaba continues. “I want you to still be here, when I get back.  I think you want to be alone.  But I don’t think you should be.  If you want to talk about what’s going on, I’m going to be here.  If you want to just be quiet for a while I want to be here for that too. “

“Okay.”  He doesn’t know if he’ll be here when Yahaba comes back, every one of his instincts is telling him to run but a few of them, want to stay.

“Good.” Yahaba grins, genuine and wide and pulls himself up. “You’re not alone Kentarou. You don’t have to be.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just goes to unlock his locker on the opposite side of the room. Kyoutani doesn’t watch him change, just stares at the ground in front of him, he doesn’t look up again until he hears the door swing open and closed. It takes an insufferable amount of work to extract himself from the floor, he feels like he weighs less, like something is missing. Whatever it is, he can’t say he misses it.  

He takes the money he needed from the lock box and glares at it as he locks it again.  He shoves it into his locker and has a moment of doubt. Should he keep it here? Can he trust Yahaba? He has no choice, he has nowhere else. So he locks his locker and hopes that these parts of him can remain safe. 

He makes his way over to the partition that separates the lockers from the bathrooms.  Kyoutani appraises himself in the mirror; his eyes are rimmed red, which partnered with the bruises from overwork and lack of sleep make him look like something bordering on death. Not quite here, not quite there.

He thinks about running and about how it seems to be all he does, and how it’s getting him nowhere. He thinks about leaving, about how he has to work in four hours.  He thinks about the boy who once pushed him up against the wall but also pulled him back and kept him from falling apart.  He thinks about staying, and saying things that he’s never spoken about before.  He thinks it’ll be ok, to show someone the pieces of himself, because Yahaba has already seen some of them and he wanted to see more.

He thinks about running and he decides to stay.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys, twenty pieces of chicken nuggets, and a whole lot of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygosh okay so. I always had the idea to continue this? But then people wanted me to continue it and that was unexpected and extremely pleasant. 
> 
> Honestly thank you so so so much to anyone who messaged me or commented to tell me how they felt about this fic. You are all so kind and lovely. I know it's been awhile so thank you so much for waiting and I hope this does't disappoint.
> 
> Also no beta, all the mistakes are mine. Things i'm not great at? Dialogue. Things this chapter has a lot of? Dialogue.

They’re seated in a booth tucked into the back of a busy McDonalds. Between them is a box of twenty chicken nuggets, purchased by Yahaba who insisted because  _I made you cry after all._  

Kyoutani isn’t sure if he’s appreciative that the other boy is back to being an asshole.

They had been silent since they sat down. Kyoutani’s eyes focused on a smudge of sauce on his side of the table. Words were not his forte and he wasn’t going to suddenly become proficient in the art of conversation. He was going to try, he figured he had to. The problem, or well one of them, was he didn’t know how to start.

He knew he was good at ending conversations. With a fist fight, a  _fuck off_ _,_ slamming the door.

Leaving.

He was scared to tell Yahaba. He felt safer with secrets; the act of telling decreased all of that protection. He didn’t want to be treated differently, with pity or even worse, rejection. If Yahaba reacted badly to what he was going to say he was never going to be allowed back on the Aoba Jousai court. If he was going to be captain next year he could make sure of it. He’d never get to play in an official match again.

After everything he had lost, he wasn’t prepared to lose volleyball too. He was barely holding onto his spot as a regular. Every time he chose work over practice it was a strike against him. Yahaba had told him he needed him, but who needed an overworked, overtired, homeless and hopeless ace? Certainly not Seijou and definitely not Yahaba. At this rate he would never be able to live up to Iwaizumi.

And yet. 

He felt at home with his feet on the court, it was a place where his skin fit  _right._ He was strong there, he had control. It made him feel alive. He always had the rec centre, and it was still where he practiced the most. It always came down to time; the lack of it. His schedule could fit the rec centre but he wanted to be practicing with the team. His team. After facing Karasuno and being a regular again, he couldn’t give it up. He didn’t want to.  His team had accepted him, flawed social skills and all. He had accepted them too. It was just another thing he was waiting to lose, another thing to terrify him.

He could feel Yahaba’s eyes observing him. He can only imagine what he looks like: a pitiful mess of a boy, hostile and wild. A  _Mad Dog._  

He hated Oikawa for branding him with that nickname.

The silence is punctured by Yahaba’s voice, his words are careful as he asks, “Do you want to talk?”

It forces Kyoutani to look up, Yahaba’s eyes are contemplative and he can see that he’s already helped himself to some of the food.  He nods, prompting him to continue. 

“We could make a game out of it. “

“… A game?”

He hopes his tone conveys what he thinks about that idea.

Yahaba raises his hands in surrender, catching onto Kyoutani’s irritation and shaking his head as he says, “I mean to make it easier for you.  It’ll be kind of like 20 questions, we’ll play with these.”

 He pushes the box of food towards Kyoutani who eyes it wearily. Like it’s primed to bite.

“For every piece you eat you have to say something, a fact, a secret, whatever the hell you want. “

He doesn’t feel hungry but Kyoutani knows he should eat. If he doesn’t it will lead to wasted food and wasted money, neither of which he can afford. He thinks he can work with this. If he can make this into bite sized portions maybe he can actually stomach it.  Maybe Yahaba won’t hate him.

So he agrees, and watches in wonder as Yahaba’s whole face lights up, and  _oh,_ that is a good look.  He forces his eyes back to the suspicious stain, if he squints, he realizes, it kind of looks like Kindaichi.

“I’ll go first, I’ve already eaten a couple anyways,” he offers. "The last time I was here I was on a date.”

There’s a sharp twist in his gut and he is filled with the sudden urge to put his fist through the table. He’s already feeling how much of a bad idea this is. It feels misplaced because he has no right to be jealous.

 But.

For a boy who spends most of his time over thinking, it’s hard to not replay being shoved against a wall in vivid detail as a whole gym watches. It was different from the acts of aggression he had become used to and he’d thought a lot about Yahaba’s hands after that. Callouses and the whirls of his fingertips. He’s felt that they can be gentle too. He blinks, and swears he can feel the ghost of them against his eyelids. How they had wiped away his tears like they were something fragile and valuable.  

Yahaba deserved someone who could give him easy conversations, who could cause  _that_ smile.  He did not deserve a mess of a boy.

He probably doesn’t even like boys.

He probably wouldn’t like that Kyoutani likes boys, likes him.  Another secret he isn’t sure he wants to share. Ever.

“How’d that go for you?” He grunts in response, his eyes not wavering from the tabletop.

“Ahh it was awful,” Yahaba leans back against his seat; he tilts his chin towards the ceiling and shakes his head. “All she did was ask me questions about Oikawa-san. Did I say date? I should have said interrogation.”

He laughs and it sounds bitter, with a side of self-deprecation.  He sounds disappointed.

Sad.

“I don’t see the appeal,” He mutters. He still wants to punch something.  Not because he’s jealous, but because someone took advantage of Yahaba.  

Yahaba is amused when he replies, his eyebrow quirked up and a smirk on his face, “Sorry, the appeal of what exactly? Dating? Me? The opposite sex? All three?”

Kyoutani bristles in response, waving his hand in dismissal, “No,  _asshole_ _._ Oikawa. “

Annoyance flashes across Yahaba’s features, and he may not like boys, but he definitely likes Oikawa.

“If it wasn’t for Oikawa-san you wouldn’t have even been allowed to play in official matches. He’s a perfectly respectable person; he works harder than anyone on the team. He does it  _for_ the team. ”

“That’s different, that’s volleyball, “ Kyoutani can’t help but glare and now he wants to punch Oikawa,  “dating Oikawa would be a nightmare, give me one reason why you or anyone would want to date him.“

Yahaba opens his mouth to say something and promptly shuts it.  “It doesn’t matter. He’s… He’s happily with someone anyways. “

He’s reciprocating the glare, challenging him to press the matter but Kyoutani isn’t interested in Oikawa or his love life.

He’s interested in Yahaba.

“Tell me something else. About you.”

Yahaba makes a sound of protest, “This was supposed to be about you.”

“I’ve said words, “his smirk is defiant.  Avoidance is easy, but he finds so is talking to Yahaba. He’s comfortable and he doesn’t want to ruin this, not yet, “Besides I can count, you’ve eaten at least four.”

“Fine, but it’s your turn next,” He nudges the box forward again, “Since I am  _so_ generous I’ll let you eat one for your comment about Oikawa-san.”

Kyoutani shrugs and selects a nugget; looking expectantly at Yahaba as he chews.

“Okay. Mnmm well … I have a collection of rubber ducks?”

Kyoutani blinks before throwing his head back and laughing.  He can’t stop; of all the things he expected from Yahaba it wasn’t this.  He imagines Yahaba in a bathtub surrounded by various shades of bright yellow plastic, a copious amount of bubbles. In the vision he looks content, and Kyoutani can feel the tips of his ears heat up. It spurns him to laugh harder, the ridiculousness of it all. When he finally stops, his arms tight around his chest, he can feel the soreness in his cheeks from grinning.  

It’s been awhile since that’s happened.

"Why?" His voice comes out a little hoarse and he punctuates with a cough.

"My parents, they travel a lot. And when I was younger I got to tag along. They let me pick out a souvenir and… I picked a rubber duck. "

Kyoutani watches Yahaba scrunch his face up in disdain. It’s cute to be honest, and  _oh_ _,_ that’s a thought he needs to not have. His introspection is interrupted when Yahaba continues, words tinged with disdain.           "Then they never stopped. So every time they come back from business trips? Rubber duck. It’s a running family joke now. There must be over twenty, it’s embarrassing...and to make it worse I’m kind of fond of them."

“Do you let them accompany you?”

Yahaba looks to the side a pout forming; his cheeks are starting to flush with embarrassment. It’s faint but Kyoutani catches the mumbled  _maybe._

“I shouldn’t have told you that, you’re going to use this against me.”

Kyoutani can’t help the grin that spreads across his face and he’s laughing again, “Definitely.”

Yahaba is shaking his head but he’s smiling too, both boys amused by the other.

“Maybe it was worth it though.”

Kyoutani quirks his eyebrows at this, his hand is idly massaging at his cheek. His face hurts, but it’s the good kind of pain. Yahaba looks like he doesn’t want to divulge the next part and his eyes refuse to meet Kyoutani’s.  

“I’ve never heard you laugh before. Or seen you smile either… It’s… Well, it’s nice. ”

Kyoutani feels his whole face heat up, his eyes widen and now he’s the one looking sheepishly to the side. His heart is beating in rapid time and he doesn’t know what to do with this  _kindness._ He knows he’s going to ruin it, ruining things is a honed reflex.

His words comes out raw when he says, “Shut up.”

This earns him an over dramatic eye roll which he promptly flips Yahaba off for.

Kyoutani thinks about how he’s never collected anything, even before he was in a position to be sentimental.  Slowly, he reaches for another nugget. He stares at it, his expression weary as he risks a glance up at Yahaba.  His brown eyes are bright and encouraging, the embarrassment from before is gone.

“Go on.”

"I've never collected anything," He bites into it. Taking his time, slow. "My mom did, though. Those wooden dolls. You take them a part and there are more inside of ‘em, smaller versions. She would hide stuff inside of them for me to find. It was like our secret, she knew I liked taking them apart. "

Sometimes it was coins or candy or little notes telling him she loved him.  He took them for granted; thought they would always be there. You don’t grow up preparing for the absence of a constant. He hadn’t thought to take one before he left; he was too busy barricading the door to his room. He wasn’t a boy of many material possessions to begin with, but deciding what you needed to survive when your vision blurred red, hands shaking while your fingers fumbled objects into a duffle bag, well it made things difficult.

It meant things got left behind.

Sometimes he thought of going back, just sneaking in when his father was away at work, but the thought terrified him. Because what if he didn’t want to leave? What if he couldn’t? If he went back a trap would be sprung, one that locked you in place and gave you a slow death. He liked to think, to make it easier, that his mother wouldn’t want him there. The dolls were with his father now, if he hadn’t gotten rid of them, destroyed them. He visualizes the last time he saw his living room, the overturned table, shattered glass glinting across the hardwood.  

He risks a glance up at Yahaba; underneath the table his hands are taking apart the threads in the ripped knee of his jeans. If Yahaba catches his uses of past tense, he doesn’t show it.

He’s never said it out loud because he’s never had to. He’d always been told; by doctors or his father. His throat feels tight but he selects another nugget from the box, forcing himself to chew. Four words: bite sized and impossible to swallow.

"My mom is dead."

Saying it doesn’t make him feel any different. For words that had slowly ripped his world apart, saying them had lacked the desired impact.  He expected to feel lighter; he just felt sad. He had already accepted it. He wasn’t really given a choice in the matter. His father’s mourning had left no space for his own and without her their home fell apart, and it fell apart fast.  His father mourned angry, loud and amplified, broken glass and broken voices.  It was a gradual and violent transformation from the man he had known, it started with empty bottles and ended with blossoming bruises on Kyoutani’s skin.

He had understood the anger because he was angry too. He was angry all the time. But once it was directed at him, he was lost. This was no longer the person who had introduced him to volleyball, watched him play, who honest to god cried when he got into Aoba Jousai. Now when he played, he played with the thought that this was the only connection they had left.  It was bad to lose one parent, but for the other to be replaced by a husk of their former self; he couldn’t determine which had left the larger wound. Neither were healing spectacularly well.

"Kyoutani, I'm --" 

"Don't. Please."

He doesn't want to hear it. There are a lot of apologies he would like to hear, from a lot of different people, but this wouldn’t hold the same weight. Yahaba has nothing to be sorry for. He still hears him say it; but it’s small and mumbled. He can’t help but huff out an irritated breath.

“She was sick, and my dad didn’t take it well.  He…”

He doesn’t know how to say it, he realizes. It’s a harder truth to swallow.  He’s nervously running a hand through his hair, willing the bad thoughts out.  Admitting this, saying it, it’s harder than talking about death.

You can’t control death.

“He changed. I had to leave. I left. ”

He can see Yahaba trying to align the events of the locker room to now, he fixes his gaze down to his lap. His hands clench into tight fists, his fingernails are digging into the palm of his hand. They’re blunt from all of his nervous chewing, dull enough to not draw blood. The tone of Yahaba’s voice causes him to wince. It’s a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“Your father kicked you out? Of your own house? ”

He shakes his head; back and forth, back and forth. He hates how words fail him, he wishes he could show instead of tell. He doesn’t want to say it, “No, he didn’t but I had to…  Yahaba I had to leave.  It was bad, so I left. “

“What did he do?” There is an edge to Yahaba’s voice, sharp and dangerous.  

He refuses to look up and meet his eyes. “He got angry. It was my fault, to be honest I, listen I don’t think… “

He doesn’t think he can talk about this after all and for the second time today he thinks he’s going to be sick.  

“What did he do to you?”

Silence, is an answer in itself.

“Kentarou, if he hurt you that’s… that’s assault. You know you can go to the police.” 

He can’t help it, it’s a knee jerk reaction and his defenses are being flung up, “…He’s my dad, Yahaba.”

“Fuck.” And Yahaba has the same tone from hours ago, when he first saw the contents of his lockbox sprawled at his feet. “Do you think you deserved it? Kentarou…”

Sometimes.

He drowns those times out with sleeping pills, an extra shift, practicing until he can’t feel his body anymore.  Because what if? What if he had done something different, what if he could have been enough to keep his father from falling apart? He’d still be at home; he wouldn’t be In the back of a McDonald’s with Yahaba. There’s a pounding in his ears, a loud frantic pulse.  Suddenly, he doesn’t want to be here. His reflex has always been to run and this booth is starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Listen I don’t think…” His body is acting on autopilot, his hands fumbling as he grabs for his backpack. He’s upright and trying to extract himself from the booth, “I actually can’t do this. “

He’s kept his eyes down the whole time, he can’t look at Yahaba, he can’t. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t be known, he’s a secret best kept to himself. What a fool he was to think he could share this part of himself with someone else. Yahaba didn’t want to know this; there was no way he could understand. There was no way he would want to.

He’s so caught up in the alarm bells ringing in his brain that he doesn’t see that Yahaba is now blocking the exit to the booth. He practically runs into him, he opts for falling back awkwardly to avoid a collision. He forces himself to meet Yahaba’s eyes and has to let out a low panicked breath. Why won’t Yahaba just let him go, he feels a spark of anger flare up and he has to force it _down._ He needs to be level headed or Yahaba will think he’s no better than his father.   

He might think he deserved it too.

Yahaba looks panicked.  His tone is pleading, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean. It really wasn’t my place, I’m sorry. Just stay. Please?” He glances around slightly, an irritated frown growing on his face.

Kyoutani is suddenly aware that they’re causing a scene. He directs his best death glare towards a couple of high school girls giving them curious looks and whispering excitedly. It works; they promptly shut up, looking away with their eyes blown wide.

 _Mad dog,_ He thinks.

Frustrated he slides back into the booth, pressing himself close to the wall. It grounds him, if only slightly. He’s surprised when instead of taking his previous seat Yahaba slides in beside him.  He leaves a suitable amount of space between them but it isn’t doing Kyoutani’s claustrophobia any favours. 

This is the second time Yahaba has asked him to stay; it’s the second time he’s obeyed.

“Why do you…” He lets out a frustrated noise, gesturing with his hand as he struggles with words, again. “Why are you doing this? Why do you even care?”

Yahaba turns, his gaze taking in Kyoutani, considering him.  His brows are furrowed, like he’s trying to solve a complicated problem.

Kyoutani’s the problem.

“I really didn’t like you.”

Kyoutani notes the past tense, but it doesn’t help with the tightness he feels in his throat.

“You were arrogant, rude, reckless. You got to be a regular and you hadn’t worked for it like everyone else had.  It was frustrating,” he sighs, shaking his head. “But you were good, watching you play, when you actually synced up with the team it was amazing.  _You_ were amazing. I know we lost but it doesn’t change how playing with you made me feel. I know if I can set for you you’re going to give it your all. You never do anything by half measures. “

“But then you didn’t show up to practice again and I couldn’t understand it. I thought you were throwing away the team again. But I didn’t know, about your mom or well, anything... “

Kyoutani’s eyes are fixed on the table, teeth gritted together.  He’s disappointed but not surprised that Yahaba would be here on behalf of the team.. He doesn’t want to actually be here for him. He shouldn’t have expected anything less, and he’s mad at himself for always wanting more.

He can work with this though, he will. Volleyball is important to him and he won’t screw it up for Yahaba. He’s already trying to not screw it up for himself.

“I’m your team mate, and yes, you’re an important aspect of the team. But I want to… I want to know you too.  _You._ Not this persona you put up. I want to know him, the Kyoutani that laughs at my duck collection. I want to be your friend. I can’t even. I can’t fathom what you’re going through, but you shouldn’t be going through it alone and I know you are.  I know you can’t  _force_ frien--”

“I want that. I want to be friends.” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them; they tumble out, rushed and desperate.

He wants, he wants so much.

Guilt wells up inside of him for doubting Yahaba, he deserves better.  He wants to be better for him. Glancing up, he hopes his face conveys what he’s feeling, his stomach is in knots but he feels hopeful.

Yahaba is smiling; it’s weak and doesn’t hold a candle to the one he had flashed earlier. But it’s enough. His gaze reverts back to the table. Fingers fidgeting on his knee, he’s made thorough work on the rip in his jeans, widened it into  a twisted maw.  

His heart almost stutters to a stop when he feels Yahaba pull his hand away, settling it into the space between them.  His palm presses against the back of his hand, it feels warm; soft. It’s supposed to feel reassuring, he’s sure.

He’s thought about Yahaba’s hands before.

He stares at their hands, pressed together and obscured from the rest of the restaurant. This is theirs and theirs alone. Is this what friends do? Hold hands? Kyoutani wouldn’t know. This feels like he’s burning up from the inside out.  His face is hot and flushed from blushing.

He doesn’t think this is a friend thing.

“I’m glad,” the relief in Yahaba’s voice is almost a tangible thing. “Listen you don’t have to tell me. We don’t have to talk about this anymore but… where are you staying?”

He sighs, turning his palm up so it presses against Yahaba’s own. A tentative gesture, but Yahaba makes no move away.  

“The first week I stayed at the rec centre, but then I got caught by one of the guys who I practice with,” he lets out a low breath, steeling himself, “I think he knew right away, but he waited a week to see if I would leave. He let me stay with him, but I’m not the only one. I think he’s used to collecting strays.”

He uses the hand not currently pressed against Yahaba’s to rub at the back of his head. “There’s a bunch of other guys who stay there too, they don’t have anywhere to go either. They’ve been kicked out or they’re going through worse. I really fucking hate it there... “

He remembers waking up to an unknown boy going through his duffle bag, watching him pocket his cellphone before Kyoutani had surged forward ready to throw punches.  A glint of metal stopped him, his fist hovering parallel from an amused face. He felt it, the cool metal pressed against his throat. This was not escaping the fear and danger; this was running head first into it.  His whole body flinched back, eyes wide and wild. He wished he could have lived up to his nickname then.   

 _Welcome to the fun house,_ the other boy had said, letting out a cruel laugh. And as suddenly as he was there he was gone.

 With his cellphone.

He never got it back. It hadn’t been a painful loss, his cellphone only held two contacts to begin with. One of them could no longer call and the other wouldn’t.  That wasn’t what he had thought during the first week. The first week he had found himself staring at it; willing it to ring.

He wanted to hear  _Im sorry._

He wanted to hear  _Come Back._

He remembered how he couldn’t sleep after, how scared he was of waking up to have a knife against his throat. The following week was spent dependent on his sleeping pills. He never saw the boy again, almost thought he dreamed him up until he overheard a conversation between two of the other boys who frequented the house. Apparently he had gotten arrested, caught stealing.  Sleep didn’t come any easier after that but he stopped having nightmares about knives. He wished he could've gotten his phone back. He hoped it had missed calls.

 After that he got the lock box, filling it with everything important he had gotten out of his house, the things he couldn’t afford to have taken. That’s how the Seijou locker room transformed into his hiding spot, how he ended up here, with his hand pressed into Yahaba’s.

He feels a squeeze and it motivates him to continue, “I try to work a lot, to avoid having to stay there. If I have a night shift I can go straight to school after. I work like four jobs; it’s why I miss practice and why I’m doing so badly in school. I’m so close to having enough to get my own place but I just, I don’t have time. “

He finds himself squeezing back.

“I want to have more time.”

More time with Yahaba, he doesn’t want to let go of his hand. His fingers are acting like a tether holding him in place and that’s the second time today they’ve kept him from falling apart. He knows he’s going to have to; that he actually has to leave for work soon.

Yahaba is looking at him, brows furrowed and his concern evident.  Kyoutani doesn’t know what he expected to hear, he knows it probably wasn’t this.

“So there you have it, I’m a mess.”

He expects Yahaba to apologize, to compartmentalize, but he just pushes the box of chicken nuggets towards him. “Honestly, I think you deserve the whole box after that.”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.” He grumbles be he still reaches inside the box, he doesn’t want to waste food, money. They’ve certainly established that he lacks the luxury.

“Kentarou I think you’re pretty brave.”

He’s never felt brave. All he seemed to do was run away from his problems and he’s never got very far.

 “I don’t feel it.”

“I didn’t think you would,” He pauses before adding, “I’ll think it for you, you’re brave. “

 _Kindness_ , what are you supposed to do with that? The weight of it is consuming him. He had never expected to find it in the back booth of a McDonalds over a box of twenty chicken nuggets.  He never expected to find it from Yahaba Shigeru, from his fingertips to the palms of his hands. He wants to drown in it.

He wants so much.

But he has work in an hour.

“I have to go to work soon,” he hopes his tone conveys how much he doesn’t want to go.

“Oh, okay.”

He doesn’t think he’s being hopeful when he hears the disappointment in Yahaba’s voice.

“Can I walk with you to work, or something? Are you going to be okay?”

Kyoutani blinks, nodding. He didn’t expect Yahaba to spend more time with him, didn’t expect him to want to.

 “As okay as I can be.”

“Good, good enough.” His smile is bright, the kind that makes Kyoutani’s heart skip.

Yahaba pulls his hand away, his thumb swiping across the other boy’s palm. Kyoutani feels the loss immediately; his palm burns electric along the path his thumb traced. He watches as Yahaba points his finger towards the smear of sauce on the table that had held most of Kyoutani’s attention, his voice thoughtful as he asks, “Don’t you think that looks like Kindaichi?” 

Kyoutani can’t help the wild grin that spreads over his face, bursting out into easy laughter.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

They finish the box between them, Yahaba still eats the most. He makes up for it with supplying Kyoutani with more facts. That Ikura Don is his favourite food, that he’s terrified of not being as good a captain as Oikawa (to which Kyoutani promptly insists that no one wants another Oikawa, that Yahaba is fine just the way he is and should refrain from trying to be anything else), that he wants to go to university for nursing, that he has an older sister. Kyoutani tells him he wants to go and be a veterinarian, that he loves animals but never got to have a pet, that he wants to be just as strong as Iwaizumi. 

For all their differences, they were almost the same.

True to his word Yahaba walks Kyoutani to his shift. Today he’s working at the factory, it’s easy and mundane but it pays the most.

Yahaba eyes the large building critically, frowning. “Please tell me this isn’t a sweat shop with abhorrent working conditions.”

Kyoutani punches him in the arm gently, grumbling,” shut up. It’s not a sweatshop and the working conditions are… decent.”

He resists the urge to mock Yahaba for using the word abhorrent.

Yahaba makes a sound of disapproval, pulling Kyoutani in a tight hug and ruffling his hair. He can feel his body ignite; he’s sure every part of him is tinted an embarrassing shade of red. He protests, but Yahaba is already pulling away. He has a smug look on his face and Kyoutani wishes he could wipe it off with his mouth, and  _oh,_ that’s something he’s going to think about as he assembles appliances.

He’s never had someone make him feel twenty different things in less than twenty-four hours.

He’s never had a friend before, really.

But when Yahaba, determination ringing through his words tells him he’ll see him tomorrow.

He knows he’s going to.

And for the first time in a long time, Kyoutani can’t help but feel hopeful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who commented or messaged me about this fic. You're all so kind and you made it easier to write the next bit. So thank you so much!

Yahaba had told him he would see him tomorrow and it was the only thing he could think about. His shift at the factory had been spent thinking about it and he expected it to carry over into sleep. To dream of kind hands; gentle touches. But for once he had passed out immediately and if he dreamed, he didn’t remember. The events of yesterday had rendered him exhausted, the kind that knocked you out and woke you up feeling well-rested. Well, as rested as he could get.

 He hoped for a lunch time visit, but figured it would most likely be after school. They weren’t even in the same class. Yahaba was smart and taking college prep courses and well, Kyoutani wasn’t an idiot but he was never going to be class five material.  He had always struggled expressing a need for help, opting to suffer in silence over the things his brain refused to process properly. He could see how this was a character trait that didn’t just apply to his education. So he had no arguments when in his second year he was downgraded from class three to one. Something probably for the best, he could barely handle his course load now. His mother would have been disappointed in him and his father had been angry.  It didn’t stop him from trying. He could have easily dropped out and dedicated his time to working, getting more hours at the factory or picking up another job.  He was determined to make something of himself, determined to graduate and go to university; Determined to survive this.  

Lunch arrived slowly. Time was an annoying thing, when math class could stretch one hour into what felt like five and every other part of the day slipped through his fingers. He sat tucked away in the back corner of his homeroom. Aimlessly he chewed on a protein bar as he tried to catch up on his English readings. He could barely focus; reading and rereading sentences and understanding nothing.  His thoughts were a wandering thing and he was starting to get annoyed that they kept straying towards a certain boy.

A certain boy who had definitely just entered his homeroom.  

He heard Yahaba before he saw him.  Well, he heard his classmates, how their loud voices had hushed quiet. Their silence held a weight and it felt heavy.  He didn’t look up until there was a knock on his desk, the quiet evaporating into excited murmurs and a few giggles.  He saw the hand and immediately knew who it belonged to.

He had thought about those hands a lot, after all.

His eyes trailed up the length of his arm until they met with the bright brown of Yahaba’s eyes.  

“Hey,” He says, sounding like he was genuinely pleased to see him.

It was doing things to his stomach that the boy wasn’t particularly fond of, and he didn’t want whatever this was to have an audience. Kyoutani knew every set of eyes in the class room were on the pair of them. He could feel them observing, jumping to conclusions, expectant of a bad outcome. He didn’t want to share this. He didn’t care what they thought of him, he already knew none of it was good and all of it was borderline ridiculous. He had never killed anyone, robbed a convenience store or been a part of the yakuza since the age of six.

He did care what they were thinking about Yahaba though.

“Hey, can we… go somewhere else?”

Yahaba nodded and Kyoutani shoved everything into his backpack. He promptly led him out to the hallway, whispers trailing out behind them. 

“I think you’re more popular than me.” Yahaba looked amused, definitely enjoying the attention.

He opted to ignore him and started to walk off, trusting him to follow while grumbling, “C’mon.”  
  
Kyoutani led Yahaba to the fourth floor. It was significantly quieter up here and fewer students were around. He made his way down to the end of the hall, glancing back at Yahaba before opening the door to a secluded class room. This was his spot, one he had discovered by accident when the presence of his classmates had proven too overwhelming. He always had a fierce need to be solitary. It came with people getting the wrong impression and already assuming the worst of him. He used this room for naps, homework, venting. There’s an imprint his fist would fit perfectly into hidden along the back wall.  He didn’t mind sharing it with Yahaba; after all he’d already shared so much.

Their eyes met and Yahaba gave him a thoughtful look before brushing past and sitting on the top of the empty teacher’s desk. Light pooled in through the windows and washed across Yahaba’s features. He watched, fascinated as dust motes danced a halo around his head. In the quiet, illuminated and bright, he didn’t seem real. It caused a wild stirring in his chest, like it was impossible this moment was his.   He watched Yahaba’s hand splay out on the empty space beside him, patting it, an unsaid _Come Here_.

Kyoutani’s heart thrummed in his chest, his fingers clenching into tight fists at his side. He was used to wanting, but he didn’t know if it was okay to want this, want more than this. They had established friendship, but he didn’t know if he could stop there. Being with Yahaba was confusing and he wasn’t sure where their boundaries lay. It didn’t help that Yahaba wasn’t shy about touching. It seemed unfair that he couldn’t control his feelings, how one inch of kindness had him desperate for metres more. He pushed into the room, fidgeting as he sat on the opposite edge of the desk. He was reminded of yesterday, how Yahaba had slid into the booth beside him and held his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t…” he pauses unsure what to say but certain it shouldn’t be what he was thinking about before.    
  
Yahaba smile is soft as he nods, reaching for his book bag and rummaging through it for something.

“I understand. People talk, who knows the crazy rumours they’re spreading about us right now,” he pauses, a bento box now resting in his hands, “does it bother you?”

He didn’t care what they thought, he knew what was true and wasn’t that all that mattered? He’d rather they assume he was a common criminal than a messed up boy who slept in a stranger’s house with even stranger boys, working four jobs and constantly missing the recommended amount of sleep. He’d rather nobody noticed him at all.

Kyoutani shrugs in response, “I don’t care what they say about me.”

 _I care what they’ll say about you,_ goes unsaid.

Yahaba nods again, he places the bento box in the space between them. “I made you lunch.”

The disbelief must be clear on his face; he stares down at the box that separates the space between them like it isn’t to be trusted; like it’s something dangerous. His heart is doing something stupid.

This feels dangerous.

Yahaba surprisingly seems embarrassed, his cheeks are flushed and his voice is directed at the floor refusing to make eye contact. “By accident, it was an accident. I mean I made too much and there were leftovers and I didn’t want them to go to waste, _obviously_. If you don’t like it you can throw it out. But honestly what kind of volleyball player survives off of a protein bar at lunch? You need to eat properly. I mean, sorry, you probably don’t have…ugh I, just try it. “

He pushes it a bit closer, the edge of the box bumping against Kyoutani’s thigh. “Please.”

Kyoutani hesitates but he picks it up, placing it in his lap before slipping off the lid. There is no way this was an accident. He would have believed him if it was just an assortment of yakiniku and vegetables. But beside that are three onigiri and they’re decorated to look like puppies. They’re cute as fuck and he can’t believe Yahaba Shigeru made him lunch like a doting school girl. He can’t believe he likes it; his heart is doing giddy somersaults inside his chest.  Do friends make each other’s lunches? Is that a thing friends do?

“Please say something,” Yahaba sounds like he wants to be put out of his misery.

“…Thank you,” He mumbles, feeling like his whole face is aflame.  He selects one of the rice balls and waves it slightly at Yahaba, tone teasing, “You just happened to make extra onigiri decorated like this?”

Whatever embarrassment Yahaba is feeling evaporates, he matches Kyoutani’s smirk and shrugs his shoulders.  “What can I say? I was inspired by Seijou’s resident puppy. “

“Don’t you mean _mad dog?”_

Kyoutani rolls his eyes, he bites into the food taking a sizeable chunk out of it and decimating half of the puppies face. That will show him what he thinks about that statement _._

And _oh,_ this is good. 

The filling is something tangy, slightly sweet and it has a bit of a crunch.  He can’t help the sound of pleasure he makes as he chews.  He hasn’t had a home cooked meal in over a year, and until this moment hadn’t realized how much he missed his mother’s cooking. 

“…Yahaba this is really good,” for good measure he adds, “Fuck, like, really good.”

He’s already grabbing for the second one.  Screw decency, this is delicious.  Yahaba just grins at him, smug as he removes a second bento from his bag.  When he removes the lid Kyoutani leans over to peer in. His is identical except that his onigiri look plain. He quirks his eyebrow, an unsaid _really?_  To which Yahaba responds with a shrug.

“I don’t think that nickname suits you at all. But if it’ll make you feel better Oikawa-san calls me Creampuff-chan.”

“Well I think that definitely suits you.” He grins around a mouthful of rice.

There is a light kick to Kyoutani’s ankle in retaliation.

“Like I said, my parents are away on business a lot. I usually cooked with my sister, but she moved out last year for university.  I’m used to cooking for two, so I do make extra.  My sister would always go all out in decorating our lunches,” he pauses his hands are fidgeting with his chopsticks. “I thought it’d be nice to do it for you too. Yesterday was kind of a shit show, I feel bad.” 

“Yahaba I don’t need you to feed me because you pity me.”

Because the last thing he wants is to be pitied.

To be someone’s charity case.

Yahaba must find this statement offensive because he sets down his lunch, twisting his body towards him. His posture is rigid, features tight and drawn down into a frown.  He reaches out and wraps his hand around Kyoutani’s wrist, ignoring that he’s in the process of placing a piece of steamed broccoli into his mouth. It misses, hitting the floor. A waste. How annoying time was when a split second was enough to shatter easy comfort. Kyoutani flinches, his entire body tensing in response to the sudden contact, unsure where Yahaba’s anger is coming from.

If anyone should be upset shouldn’t it be him?

“I don’t pity you. I feel awful about what you’re going through but do not mistake my kindness for pity. I don’t think there’s a lot I can do to help but I just want to try to make it easier. That’s what friends do, Kentarou. I know you’re not exactly familiar with the concept.”

He’s suddenly filled with a familiar heat, volatile and all-consuming.

“Fuck you _Shigeru_.” He snatches his wrist away, Yahaba’s touch feels like an incendiary. He sets the unfinished bento down before backing off the desk, putting distance between them. This requires distance. “Are friends supposed to be assholes? If that’s the case I’d rather not _learn_ about friendship from you, thanks.”

Yahaba isn’t wrong. He’s not familiar with friendship. He’s always been solitary, and he can see why. It’s easier. It’s one thing to tell yourself, it’s completely different when it comes from someone else. Someone you care about it. He’s been in this position before and  he can feel the anger hum through his body, the distressed tempo of a war song.  This is what he’s used to: his reflex to fight. He hates it. Hates how easy it is to damage such a fragile thing.

He hates how he’s become the fragile thing.   

Yahaba pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh I think you meant it.” His words are venom; a scowl slashed across his face.  

Yahaba flinches but he doesn’t hesitate to counter; matching Kyoutani’s contempt with his own, “If you had friends you wouldn’t have to hide your possessions in a high school gym locker! You wouldn’t have a break down when someone showed you an inch of kindness. Maybe! You’d be able to discern kindness from pity. I do not pity you. I’m not doing this for a gold star; I’m doing it because I want to. If you’re going to be an asshole I have better things to do with my time. ”

“If I’m going to be the asshole?” he scoffs. Each word feels like a successful hit and he has to shove his trembling fists into his pocket to keep from punching something: A desk, the wall; Yahaba. His gut is telling him to leave, that this isn’t going to be resolved, to cut his losses.  This is what he’s used to:  his reflex to run.  How easy it was to be reduced to fight or flight. He’s reaching for his bag, it’s carelessly slumped against the desk.  “If you’re finished I’m going to leave now.”

Yahaba is scrubbing his hands over his face, and when he removes them his expression is apologetic. “Friends can be assholes. But that’s a character trait specific to me at the moment.”

 “I can agree with that,” Kyoutani bites out.

“Fine, I deserve that. I don’t want to fight with you. Just, stay?”

And just like that he doesn’t feel it anymore; the agitation settles and eases out of him.  He’s still frustrated. He can feel it like a pulse but he forces himself to unclench his fists and lets out a huff of air. He doesn’t want to fight either. Not over their clashing pride. It feels like a small and insignificant thing.

This is the third time Yahaba has asked him to stay.

It’s the third time he’s obeyed.

He swipes his bento off the table, opting to sit himself on the desk parallel to Yahaba. This still needs distance, he thinks.  

Yahaba sighs, his voice is quiet but there is a sliver of relief there, “thank you.”

He nods and they continue to finish their lunches, the silence is heavy and Kyoutani wishes he knew the words that would lift it.  Neither of them will meet the other’s eyes, but Kyoutani can’t resist stealing glances. Now the light makes Yahaba look fragile. He makes a frustrated noise; minutes ago it had been easy. He wants that back.  So he stands, holding the finished bento out to Yahaba, his head slightly bowed.

“Thank you for the food.”

Yahaba blinks, nodding as he reaches to take it. “Are we okay?”

He purposefully brushes his fingers over Kyoutani’s when he grabs for the box causing a shiver to travel up his spine. The touch feels like an apology, an unsaid _I’m sorry._

Kyoutani shrugs, he sits beside Yahaba. This time the distance between them is gone. He doesn’t want it there when he already has so much distance between everything he wants. There’s no need for space between the two of them.  He hesitates before pressing his shoulder against Yahaba’s, eyes fixed on the floor. “As okay as we can be, I guess.”

Yahaba presses back and the fracture feels mended.

“Are you going to be mad if I bring you lunch tomorrow?”

He shakes his head and suppresses a small smile, happy that he’s even getting another tomorrow. That he has something to look forward to.

 “Probably not.  That was...good. The best I’ve eaten in a long time. “

Yahaba’s grin is wide and bright and Kyoutani can’t help the pleasure he gets from being the cause of it. He wants to cause it more, be the direct source.

The sudden trill of the bell slicing into the silence causes him to jump. They both hesitate before getting off of the desk.  Their movements are slow and hesitant.  

“Meet me here tomorrow?” Yahaba asks, hopeful.

“Tomorrow,” He agrees, hopeful.

 

 

 

 

 

They meet up tomorrow, and then the next day, until they fall into an easy routine. Yahaba always has lunch and he doesn’t stop with the decorating.  Kyoutani can’t help that this has become the only part of the day he looks forward to. He manages to ask Yahaba for help with his homework. Considering everything else he’d confessed it shouldn’t have been so hard but It had almost led to another argument.  After that they fell into easy conversation over multiplication problems and English translations.  After that it got easier.  

Today they’re sitting against the desk, opting for the floor.  Their shoulders are pressed together and they each have a textbook open on their lap, lunches lying finished by their sides. Kyoutani has remnants of rice on his cheek and he almost gives himself a concussion when Yahaba’s thumb brushes across his lip to wipe it off. His fingers are immediately pressed there, chasing the touch that’s already gone.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” Yahaba says, a lazy smirk on his face.  Kyoutani is starting to suspect he’s completely aware of the power of his touch. 

He’s a firm believer that no one man should have all that power

“You’re so…” Kyoutani furrows his eyebrows, his hand gesturing as if the words he’s looking for float in the air, “ handsy. “

His voice feigns an innocence that Kyoutani knows he isn’t capable of, “If you don’t like it I can stop.”

Kyoutani feels his face flush and he looks away muttering.

He likes it.

He likes it a lot.

He makes an exasperated gesture which promptly turns into the middle finger. He decides to direct all of his attention to his textbook. He’s never had to force himself to be so interested in parabolas in his life.

“I don’t care, do whatever you want. Jerk. ”

He instantly regrets it, he should know better than to give Yahaba free reign.  He doesn’t even hesitate as he presses his fingers against Kyoutani’s skull ruffling the short mess of his bleached blonde hair.  His grin is triumphant when Kyoutani bats his hand away.

“You’re a terror.”

“I’m a delight.” He says, bumping his shoulder against the other boy’s.

“I can’t think of a single delightful thing about you.”

It’s a lie because he could think of a hundred.  His hands, his smile and the dimples that appear with them, the way his nose scrunches up when he’s irritated, the sound of his laugh.

“Listen, I was thinking… when do you practice at the rec centre?”

Kyoutani blinks, his list interrupted, “why?”

“Summer is coming soon and we won’t have this anymore,” he sounds sad, like he already misses it. “I know you’re going to pick up more hours but… I want to be better and you’re going to help me with that. My motives are entirely selfish. So I was wondering if I could practice with you at the rec centre.”

Kyoutani notes the split hesitation Yahaba has, like he’s leaving something unsaid. It would be good to be able to practice more with him, he still fumbles his tosses and he hates that he even thinks Oikawa is a better setter. The difference is that he actually likes Yahaba.

He hasn’t seen Yahaba outside of school since the locker incident, and the possibility of it happening more, specifically on a court, gives him a spike of anticipation.  

“…sure? I mean, yes. That’d be good.”

Yahaba grins, nodding. “Good. So when? ”

“It’s usually late, but around seven on Wednesdays, and on the weekend. Is that… okay?”

He reaches over, pinching Kyoutani’s cheek. “You’re my ace. It’ll be okay.”

He slaps his hand away letting out a growl. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

Yahaba lips curl into a wicked grin and Kyoutani can’t help the stupid thrill it that spikes through him.

“But I’m your pain in the ass. “

“Unfortunately,” he mumbles, his face heating up.  He grabs his notebook and promptly hits Yahaba in the arm with it, “Do something useful for once and check my homework.”

Yahaba makes a dramatic wounded noise before grabbing Kyoutani’s notebook. Flipping through the pages and making humming noises of approval. Every correct answer causes a smile to break out and Kyoutani swears he’s never going to fail a math test ever again.

“This is good. I think you always understood it but you just got confused about where this number,” he taps his finger over the scribbled numbers to convey each point, “and this number went.”

Kyoutani nods, pleased that he’s finally getting it.  He’s grateful to Yahaba and their lunch time sessions. Grateful that Yahaba doesn’t treat him like he’s stupid if he can’t understand something. Grateful that he’s a patient teacher.  Asking for help hadn’t proved to be as awful as he thought. It’s actually worked to his favour; he gets more work done with Yahaba. The time he spent struggling over studying is now devoted to longer practices and sometimes, sleep.

The rest of their lunch goes by quickly, an hour feeling like minutes. It leaves Kyoutani feeling cheated, time is a stupid thing.  They agree to another tomorrow, knowing it’ll be Wednesday.  Knowing they’ll spend more than lunch time together.  He’s excited, filled with the anticipation of it Yahaba, the court, volleyball: all the things that make him fit. The court feels like home and over the weeks he’s felt like Yahaba does too.

Maybe it isn’t a place after all

They say goodbye. Yahaba ruffles his hair and his growls in reply delivering a light punch in retaliation. Both boys heads to their home rooms with smiles on their face.

Maybe, it’s a feeling.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s lying awake, surrounded by the sleep sounds of boys who don’t share his insomnia. Tonight it’s bad and he regrets not securing a pill from his locker. He’s filled with anticipation for tomorrow but…

Summer is coming.

Summer is coming soon and he isn’t sure why Yahaba telling him that has bothered him. A lingering thought he’s had on repeat.

 _Summer is coming_. 

It causes something uneasy to settle in his stomach, a gut intuition. Summer is coming and something’s wrong. He’s never been a fan, full of dislike towards the dry waves of heat that roll over and overstay their welcome. 

 _Summer is coming_.

 He won’t have to worry about school; he might even be able to sleep. He can make more money, work more hours, afford to finally leave. 

But, summer is coming.

And he won’t have school.

It suddenly hits him why this is wrong. A problem his body has been waiting for his brain to catch up to.

If he doesn’t have school he won’t have Seijou.

This means he won’t have access to the locker room.

This means he needs to find a new place for his lockbox.

Summer is coming,

 and Kyoutani is filled with dread and a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry sorry I took awhile to get to this, I got a job and adult responsibilities. they suck. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit short and it's kind of like the filler before the good stuff. I hope you still like it, if you do let me know! Once again thank you for all your kind comments.

He doesn’t sleep.

The heavy nights silence is punctured by an out of tune lullaby. Snores, grinding teeth,muffled breathing. It does the opposite of lull him to sleep. He feels hyper aware, every sound increasing his wakefulness. His eyes move from the discoloured water stains marking the ceiling to the shadows conjured on the surrounding walls. The room is crammed with futons that fill the floor in a complicated pattern made out of complicated boys; tetris. Duffel bags accent the threadbare duvets, most are clutched close. Kyoutani thinks about where they keep their possessions, if they have a safe place,if they risk it or if they’d lost their things of value long ago. The problem was things went missing here all the time. The constant sleight of hand led to fist fights, or in Kyoutani’s case it lead to a knife against his throat but the end result was the same; every boy for themselves.

Another cause of injury was simple math. Take one small room, add eight futons,add ten boys on a good night (fifteen if it was bad), subtract empathy and your solution would always equal the fun house.

He’s heard boys beg for a spot on the floor. Heard how some, cruel with power would pawn off their blankets for money, favours. Cash was preferred but he’s heard the favours. The quiet nights were an obscene amplifier of moans, quick breaths, the rustling of sheets.  It always caused something shameful to stir inside of him, forced into voyeurism. Everything about it was vulgar.

A snakelike boy had propositioned him on a night where he couldn't factor into the equation, when he had arrived too late. He left with his knuckles bruising,refusing to bargain with his meager funds and more importantly his pride. Instead he wandered Sendai through the night, aimless and tired. He ended up shivering on a park bench until the gates to school opened, thankful for clubs that practiced in the early hours of the morning, thankful that volleyball was one of them.

Everyone had been surprised when he showed up. He silently channeled every tired frustration into his spikes, nearly served a ball to Matsukawa’s face and was fairly certain by the looks Yahaba was shooting him that his death was being plotted. They hadn’t been on speaking terms then. By the end of it he dragged himself to the fourth floor’s empty classroom and slept through all of his classes.

After that his schedule had been constructed around securing a sliver of space, making sure he could spend all night working or that he was off early enough to snatch a spot to sleep.  He’s always weary as he watches the boys pile in, a rag tag assortment of delinquents. The spots against the walls went quickest. His ideal place was beside the door, he had become more keen about knowing where the exits were.

 When was he going to get out of here?

 He doesn't know. It’s another question that loops in his mind until he feels sleep hit him; a slow but welcome impact.

When he wakes the sunshine is bright and burning. The room is quiet and when he looks around he discovers it empty. A glance at his cheap wristwatch tells him it's past noon and he's slept through the lunch period. He’s missed Yahaba, something inside him sinks. He hopes that he hasn’t worried him and hopes he’ll still show up tonight. For the first time in awhile he wishes he had his stupid phone.

When he sits up he’s followed by the sound of shifting paper. The contents of his bag are strewn around him and whatever was sinking inside of him prior curls and rises up, up, _up_ .  He’s immediately reminded about his problem and why it’s a problem. A pack of gum he had indulged himself to is missing, but everything else remains. He had nothing of value to take, after all who would want a high school textbook? Or his notes scribbled on paper scraps and  in worn notebooks, his faded gym clothes, his wrinkled uniform? What little money he carried on him was slipped into his boxers, pressed against his hip.  If someone tried to take it he would know, and he _would_ fight, knives be damned.

 He felt some relief at the solitude the room held. It made it easier to breathe,to make a fist and push it into the floor. Empty. It was surprising how the boys managed to fit at all. It was such a small place, with it’s small kitchen and even smaller bathroom. There was an extra bedroom but it was small too and belonged to the owner, Kyoshi. The door to his room was fortified with extra locks. He certainly didn't trust his cast of strays. But who could blame him? He had their respect, and even the worst of the lot wouldn’t dare cross him. How could they when he had given them all a temporary home? Sometimes he even fed them but this was where playing the role of their absent parents began and usually stopped.

 The man who ran the house and the man who Kyoutani had met at the rec centre were two different shades of people. Rec center Kyoshi had encouraged him to return to his team, to be better. He had found Kyoutani huddled on a bleacher and offered him a place to stay. There was a favouritism he had towards Kyoutani that he found only held on the court. But there was something unsaid about how a volleyball court could bring out the best in someone, how it let you be the person you wanted to be. Kyoutani always preferred this version. Both of himself, and Kyoshi.

At the house he was drenched in resignation, often distant and always some level of drunk. When Kyoutani had come to him the night after his stolen phone he had simply looked disappointed, shrugged halfheartedly and said _be more careful with your things._  

 He had certainly gotten more careful with his things.

 Kyoutani changes into a clean set of clothes, ignoring his school uniform. It’s too late to show up now.  He rolls up the clothes he slept in and shoves them in alongside the looted contents. With a sigh he exits into the kitchen dining area, bag thrown over his shoulder. His eyes immediately find Kyoshi, he’s sitting at the table idly flipping through the paper. A glass rests beside his hand that certainly contains more than orange juice. Kyoshi gives a curt nod and gestures to the seat in front of him. There's a plate of pancakes in front of him and Kyoutani’s stomach growls loudly in response.

 “You’re not at school today,” His eyes have gone back to his paper, he flips to the next page lazily, “help yourself, they’re definitely cold.”

 Kyoutani slides into the seat and pushes his bag under the table. He wastes no time piling pancakes onto a clean plate. He grabs at one, shredding it into smaller portions with his fingers. He chews and feels grateful.  It’s cold but it’s also soft and sweet. He’d learned to stop complaining about the quality of food a long time ago, anyway.

He can’t help but miss Yahaba’s boxed lunch.

 Between bites he manages,“I slept...wrong. Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, Kyoshi doesn’t care and his shoulders shrug to prove it.

 "Hows your team doing?”.

 “Fine, I guess. My setter, I mean the team’s setter is coming to play tonight. I think...”

 He can feel his ears heat up at the tips. My setter. It felt good, and it was true. Yahaba was his setter. But It felt embarrassing to say that to someone else.

 Kyoshi just flashes a knowing smile in return and finishes the contents of his drink. “Oh? That will be interesting.”

It’s Kyoutani’s turn to shrug in response. He mumbles around a mouthful, already on his second, “I guess?”

 Kyoshi is appraising him over templed fingers, the newspaper left folded on the table. “I’m proud of you.”

This causes Kyoutani to drop his food back to the plate. His throat goes dry. “What?”

 There is a laugh in response, it sounds gravelly and rough. “You poor kid,” he shakes his head at this, “ months ago you would have never brought a team mate with you to play. You’re making friends, I’m proud.”

 Kyoutani knows he’s only being this candid because they’re alone in the house. It does nothing to stop the shock of red that spreads to his cheeks, the warmth climbing up his spine.

 Proud.

 Friends.

 It was really just the one. It didn’t seem like a huge accomplishment to have befriended Yahaba Shigeru. But when he thought about it, as he often did, it struck him as the most important thing he had to hang on to. Slightly wide eyed he musters an, “I...guess…”

 Kyoshi laughs again, pulling himself up from the table. “ If you’re not going to finish those put them in the fridge, there should be a container in one of the drawers somewhere.” He takes his empty glass and places it by the sink, no room inside of it. It’s already overflowing with dirty dishes, becoming it’s own ecosystem. “ And if you’re not going to class you can do these. I’ll see you at the rec center later.”

 He disappears into his room with a tell tale click of a lock followed by the incessant hum from a television.

Kyoutani let’s out a huff of air, the after burn of praise still tingling through him. He didn’t want to think of Kyoshi as a father figure, but the thought of making him proud caused a private thrill. He had people who wanted him to do well, who cared.

 He wasn’t alone.

 It certainly made the task of doing dishes easier. He had always hated it, the feeling of puckered finger tips and old food grime. There were certainly a lot of dishes but there were also a lot of boys.They always managed to pile up until Kyoshi could coerce a boy into doing them.  He scrubbed and contemplated if he showed up early to the department store if they would pay him for the extra hours. It was worth a shot, free time was a novelty he couldn’t afford to enjoy. Not yet. He still feels the tired ache behind his eyes. He had slept late but not well. The problem, the lockbox, is a buzz in the back of his mind. With each scrub he thinks of solutions that aren’t feasible. He finishes up, drying the dishes and putting them away in their rightful cupboard spaces. No one has to know if he eats the rest of the pancakes, which he does, an attempt to feel better about the decorated onigiri his day is lacking. He heads to work, full, tired and still troubled.

  
  
  
  


It’s luck that earns him extra hours and he spends it robotically unpacking boxes and restocking shelves. His mind buzzes with one thought as the time passes. Where is a safe place?

It trails with him when his shift is over, all the way to the rec center. His body aches from the manual labour and it will hurt more after volleyball but he doesn’t mind. It’s a reminder that he’s here.

He’s waiting on a bench outside the doors, His knees are drawn tight to his chest and his head rests lazily against his folded legs. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but closing his eyes is all it takes for the tired to overwhelm him. This time the impact is hard. He’s asleep and he dreams.

He dreams of home.

 He’s younger here and it feels familiar like a well-worn memory. His mom is here too. So bright and shining her edges are blurring, like she could fade away at any second. She says his name and his heart swoons to the gentle cadence of her voice. Her hands are in his hair, soft strokes that he presses into. It feels real. Too real; an overwhelming ache begins to fills him. It pushes the vision of his mom into a fluttering feeling, she fluctuates and he watches, distraught  as she disappears. He can still feel the touch, feel the fingers carding through his hair. Slowly he slides into wakefulness and he’s afraid to open his eyes. If he opens them the magic is over.

Just a little longer, he thinks.

“Mom?” his words come out small and soaked in hope, wanting the impossible to be real.  Carefully his lids flutter and it’s not his mom, but Yahaba. His expression is tense and he backs away from Kyoutani letting out a rough breath of air.

 “Im sorry.. I--”

 Kyoutani waves a hand in dismissal before proceeding to scrub his hands over his face. He feels embarrassed and a little too open.  His brain is still trying to play catch up and separate facts from dreams and wishes. Impossible from possible.

 That was a safe place, he thinks.

 “It’s okay. C’mon.” He pulls himself of the bench and rolls the muscles in his back until there is a satisfyingly loud pop. He forces a smile and hopes his honesty doesn’t come off as desperate, “I’m glad you showed up.”

 Yahaba is pressing his thumb to his lip, gaze scrutinizing. “You weren’t at school today.“ His face already shows it but it’s his mouth that says it,“ I was worried,” he pauses,“ I’m still worried. You look like shit.”

 He considers telling Yahaba, but what would be the point? He can’t help him and he’s determined to figure this out on his own. He’s already worried him enough, he thinks.  Kyoutani shrugs and lets out a yawn to emphasize his point, “Bad sleep.”   

 Yahaba gives him one last appraising look before letting out a sigh.  “Alright, if you say so.”

 “I say so.”

 He turns and enters the center, he knows Yahaba is behind him. They change and waste no time getting onto the court. As soon as his feet hit the gym floor he can feel an electric buzz sing through him. The ache in his spine doesn’t matter now, this, this is what matters.

He’s home.

The grin he gives Yahaba is almost feral and when he smirks back in return it just spreads wider. His fingers twitch, he’s ready to play.

Kyoshi is already here, surrounded by a small group made up of two girls from another high school, one of the boys he’s seen at the fun house and an odd assortment of college kids. He waves them over, there's no enthusiasm behind it just command.

Kyoutani notices the girls checking out Yahaba with a different kind of wicked smile and his excitement almost ebbs. Jealousy pangs inside him. Yahaba doesn’t seem to notice however, he’s too busy being scrutinized by Kyoshi. He’s about to introduce them but is beaten by Kyoshi saying.

“You’re the one who shoved the teamwork back into him.”

Kyoutani feels his entire face heat up, Yahaba just blinks. “Pardon?”

“I was at your inter-high kid, more people were watching your little shoving match than the game.

Yahaba actually get’s sheepish, he rubs the back of his neck and bows his head. “ I’m sorry.”  
  
Kyoshi simply shrugs, a wry smile. “ Don’t be, it was good for him.” At this he gives Kyoutani a pointed look. Kyoutani tries to look like he isn’t contemplating his own death and manages a skewed scowl. He hadn’t known Kyoshi had come to the inter-high. “We have enough for a match. Kyoutani, you and your setter can play on my team.”

Kyoutani is trying to determine if there was extra intention behind _your setter_ or if he’s imagining it.

Yahaba, as polite as ever corrects him,“It’s Yahaba, sir.”

With a raised eyebrow Kyoshi laughs, “Please, no sir. Just Kyoshi and don’t even think about adding a suffix.”

Yahaba nods, he seems about to say something but holds back. Kyoutani assumes he might have a problem with the lack of suffix.  He was always so polite and yet the only person the courtesy didn’t extend to was himself. Jerk.

He feels his fingers twitch, again. He just wants to feel the weight of a ball in his hands.

A whistle is blown and his blood sings in tandem, they play.

 For the first time in a week he can breathe, his skin fits right, he hits his first spike with such force that the highschool girl dodges, screaming. She doesn’t even try to receive it. He wasn’t exactly aiming for her but satisfaction curls in his gut. His grin is wicked, he feels powerful, he feels- he feels Yahaba placing his hand on his shoulder and his fingers digging in.

 “Tone it down and conserve your energy, idiot.” He’s scowling, voice tight.

 The girl is glaring at him through the net.

 Kyoutani doesn’t reply, just pushes Yahaba’s hand off of his shoulder and glowers.

 Yahaba makes a point of not tossing to him for the next couple of plays, passive aggressively trying to prove his point. He almost regrets letting him come here, he doesn’t need to hold back he needs to let go. It just causes frustration to bubble in him and when it’s his turn to serve it hits the net, missing Yahaba by an inch. He can be passive aggressive too, though the passive part certainly doesn’t come naturally. They exchange a look.

Kyoutani’s feigns resignation and shrugs his shoulder, his voice deadpan as he calls, ”Don’t mind.”

Yahaba has his patented _I’m ready to shove you into a wall and yell at you_ look on his face.

He risks a glance at Kyoshi, he doesn’t seem phased by the two of them, his expression is a bit bemused.

Yahaba starts tossing to him again and it’s the only apology he could ask for. He can’t help how hard he hits his spikes, but he tries his best to direct them to the empty parts of the court, past the arms of the middle blockers who aren’t fast enough to block him. Sweat is beading down his face and his breaths are sharp, his body is screaming from the strain. It’s yelling, _alive alive alive._  

 They win the first set.

 They take a short break and he hates it, he doesn’t want to stop. He’s pretty sure the two high school girls despise him, he watches wearily as they shoot glances his way and whisper behind their hands. The image is cut away by Yahaba thrusting a water bottle in his face.

 “Hydrate,” He pauses to take a swig from his own water bottle, “and stop antagonizing the other team.”

 Kyoutani huffs, “It’s not my fault, if they can’t even attempt to receive a ball they don’t belong on a court.”

 Yahaba tilts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It shouldn’t be a vulgar gesture and yet Kyoutani almost chokes.  “Do you understand the definition of recreational?”

 “Volleyball isn’t recreational for me, this isn’t for fun this is so I can _feel_ something, _be_ something. If you’re going to be a captain you better learn that.”

“I do get that. “ His face scrunches. “ I do. But you’re more than just volleyball,” he adds in an attempt to diffuse the honesty behind his words. “You jerk.”

Kyoutani doesn’t have a retort to that. He doesn’t really believe him but he can’t bring himself to tell Yahaba he’s wrong. A part of him doesn’t want him to be. He surrenders by muttering, “ I solemnly swear to not aim my spikes at screaming girls.”

Yahaba grins, and oh, it’s his favourite. It’s not as bright, he doesn’t think it ever could be, but he grins right back.

“You should come over tonight. When we’re done.”

It’s a sudden subject change. Kyoutani blinks and he does choke on his water this time, leading to a coughing fit. He couldn’t have heard right. Yahaba wants to bring him to his house? On a school night?

 “What?”

 Yahaba looks at him like he’s being difficult, he isn’t, he’s in shock. He measures out his words, like slowing them down could improve their understanding,“ Come over. To my. House. We have an extra futon, my parents are in Italy, your eye bags have eye bags and I have an extra box lunch I don’t know what to do with. “

 “Yahaba…”

 “It’ll be late when we’re finished here,you deserve to sleep in a house with less than eight people in it for once.”

He does, he thinks. But the idea of being completely alone with Yahaba, in his _house,_ is doing complicated things to his heart rate. He has to remind himself that they’re friends, just friends. That this is a thing that friends do, probably? He would never bring Yahaba to the fun house. But that was circumstance, right?

His thoughts are interrupted by Kyoshi clapping his hands together, signalling their second set.

He doesn’t trust himself to say yes so he says, “I’ll go but only if we win this next set.” It’s a gamble,but he knows the odds are rigged in his favour.

 By the smug grin on Yahaba’s face he knows it too.

 This time Yahaba doesn’t tell him to hold back, his tosses are perfect, his spikes are like comets. The other team has become a bit more confident and the girls are definitely making Kyoutani work for his receives,but Kyoshi is there to back him up. Defense was his specialty, after all.  It’s not enough to stop him, _stop them_. He’s feels perfectly in tune with himself, with Yahaba.  It’s his spike that ends the match, it ricochets into the bleachers off of one the college kid’s arms.

They win.

With one look at Yahaba, the boys both know there was never any doubt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update has Yahaba POV, hope you like it! Sorry for the length between updates, work & life K.O me. Once again thank you all for the sweet comments and support, you're the best.

He doesn’t know what he expects Yahaba’s place to look like, but he never thought it would be so grand. Kyoutani is used to clustered apartments, not wide buildings that have porches and are fenced in by large shrubs. Being in the quiet suburbs means they’re in the nicer part of town, it’s the complete opposite direction from his old house. They’re before the roads break off into the wide fields of farmland, dense forests and rising peaks of mountains. You’re more likely to hear cicadas than cars in this part of Sendai.

“It’s… big,” he muses, arching an eyebrow in Yahaba’s direction.

Yahaba scrunches his nose up, an annoyed expression spreading across his features. “Big and empty. What's the point if you’re going to barely live in it, right?”

Kyoutani shrugs, he can sense there's something being unsaid here. The frustration in Yahaba’s voice pushes him to read between the lines. He’s starting to think that when Yahaba says _my parents travel a lot_ what he means is _my parents are never here._ What a pair they made; orphan boys.

Yahaba unlocks the door and leads him inside to the foyer, sliding him a pair of slippers to replace his fraying sneakers. The inside matches the outside. The hall is all wood panels, ornamented with scenic paintings, family portraits and what he assumes are antique vases. A home, he thinks.

He follows him into his kitchen and it's twice the size of the fun house’s. It causes him to shift uncomfortably, instantly feeling out of place. He glances at his hands and expects to find them stained with dirt. He’s interrupted when what would have been his lunch if he had shown up to school today is pressed into his hands. Yahaba doesn't seem to catch on to his discomfort, instead he tells him to take a seat at the kitchen island as he busies himself going through his fridge.

“How many rooms does this place have?”  Kyoutani mumbles, more to himself than anything. He doesn't think he can stand a tour, thinks it will only increase the lack of worth creeping up his spine. He had never had this much, even with his parents were together and happy. Their apartment had been small, but it had been enough. They had managed to make it work, who knew that the absence of his mother would make it even smaller; claustrophobic. He thinks he’ll never be able to have this much on his own. He doesn’t know if the empty excess of it makes him angry or depressed.

It’s hard to understand how Yahaba can be content to spend time with him when he had all of this. But at the same time he didn’t seem to be happy. It was hard to convince himself that Yahaba didn’t care about Kyoutani’s lack of worth. He wouldn’t have put up with him for a month if he did, wouldn’t have asked him to be here. When it came down to it these were material things and he knew too well how insignificant the material could be. But sometimes it was hard to remember, when you had nothing you paid more attention to the value of things.

Yahaba shuts the fridge, deciding on a Tupperware of noodles. He shoves them into the microwave and watches as the time ticks down.

“Too many.”

He starts to count them off on his fingers, wiggling each digit as the numbers gets higher. He stops at twelve with a nonchalant shrug.  

It was so much space. Was Yahaba lonely? How long had he felt this way? He had a sister but if she was off at college that meant Yahaba spent so much of his time here alone. He felt guilty for craving the luxury of it. He envied not having to share a space with strangers. There was no point in even comparing here to the fun house. Kyoutani expected when he got his own place it would be something even shabbier, smaller.

“Does it bother you?” He needs to know, he feels like he’s spent so much time unloading his problems on Yahaba that’s he’s overlooked what he needs. He wants to be there for him the same way, it’s all he has to offer.

Yahaba shrugs and sits across from him, pausing to blow on his newly obtained noodles.

“It was fine when my sister wasn’t away.  But it’s weird to be here alone all the time. I only use half of the house.” He flashes a bright grin, Kyoutani’s favourite. He can feel his heart thrum in response. “Honestly you’re doing me a favour by staying over.”

“Please, you saved me from the snoring symphony of like eight boys and having my stuff stolen. You’re doing me a favour.”

Yahaba makes a thoughtful noise and tilts his head to the side, “They steal your stuff? “

With a sigh he says,“today it was a pack of gum, before it was my cellphone. I’m running out of valuables.”

 _That they know about,_ he thinks.

He pushes that thought back, he wants to enjoy being here with Yahaba, not have a panic attack.

“Assholes,” Yahaba mutters, his expression darkens. “ I guess that makes sense, the locker room and all.”

Kyoutani nods in agreement, he doesn’t want to think about the locker room. They slip into an easy silence as they finish their late dinners.

When they’re done Yahaba takes him up to the guest room. Kyoutani can’t help the sharp exhale at the sight of an actual bed. He was honestly expecting a bedroll, he wonders if he even owns one. This was a luxury he had forgotten.  When he turns to glance at Yahaba he’s wearing a concerned expression, arms crossed over his chest.

“Is there a problem? You can have my bed if you want it instead but I haven’t had a chance to clean and it’s --” He trails off at the sight of Kyoutani. 

He’s shaking his head and points towards the bed. It’s lacking any extraordinary features, made up of a dusty blue duvet and a single pillow, but the way his finger jabs in it’s direction emphasizes what it means to him. The something more of it.

“It’s a bed, an _actual_ bed.” he laughs, “Yahaba I haven’t slept in a bed for years.” He feels slightly ridiculous but he’s never been so excited to get to sleep. In a bed. In the house of the boy he likes. In the house of a boy who wants him to be there.

There’s a split second of what looks like pain on Yahaba’s face but he schools it into an easy grin, like the boy in front of him is nothing but endearing. He reaches forward and ruffles Kyoutani’s hair.

“I don’t know how comfortable it will be, it’s pretty old.”

Kyoutani just grins, pushing Yahaba’s hand away from his face. “It won’t be hard to compete with hardwood floors.”

“Before I forget I have something for you. Wait here.” He taps his fingers along the creases of Kyoutani’s furrowed brow before slipping out of the room. 

What else could Yahaba give him he wonders, when he’s already given him so much.

He tosses his duffel by the bed and sits on the edge. It takes every ounce of willpower to not lean back and sink into the mattress. Instead he busies himself by getting changed into looser clothes. His ragged t-shirt is halfway over his shoulders when Yahaba comes back. He’s clutching a sheaf of papers in his hand and he comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway, emitting a strangled gasp. There's a look Kyoutani is familiar with in his eyes, he thinks it’s _want_ but before he can analyze it his view is blocked by the papers. They’ve shared a locker room so he doesn’t understand why Yahaba is acting like his virtue is at stake. He’s even more confused by the idea that Yahaba could be attracted to him, of the possibility that this could be more than a one sided feeling. He smooths the light cotton over his stomach and holds out his palm, torn between being curious about the papers and the red tint affecting Yahaba’s cheeks.  

When Yahaba hands them to him he averts his eyes and mumbles, “Today’s lecture notes.”

Kyoutani blinks, his voice is skeptical, “but we’re not in the same class.” He glances at the papers, the handwriting is a loopy cursive. It’s the complete opposite of Yahaba’s rigid script. He asks, “Where did you get these?”

Yahaba shrugs, finally able to meet Kyoutani’s amber eyes again.  “You have class with the girl’s volleyball libero and she owed me a favour.”

If he had been presented a lineup of all the girl’s in his class he wouldn’t have been able to tell which one Yahaba was referring to. He had nothing against them, but they did nothing to hold his interest. He had more important things to deal with than to learn who his classmates were.  He almost doesn’t ask, worried about the answer, worried that the look he just caught was wishful thinking. “What kind of favour?”

“Watari’s phone number. She wanted to discuss,” he emphasizes with air quotes, “defensive maneuvers.”

His lips twitch at the innuendo, “How’d he take that?”

“He had a lot to say about _all_ kinds of maneuvers. I’m sure I’ll be best man at their wedding.”

He laughs and directs his gaze back to the notes. Precise bullet points and formulas, things he would need to know for his upcoming finals. His chest burns with gratitude. Kyoutani isn’t sure how he’s ever going to repay Yahaba for everything he’s done for him.

“Yahaba...thank you. For the notes,” he holds them up to accent his point, “ for practice and for letting me stay here tonight.”

_For telling me to stay, for holding me together, for being here._

Yahaba shrugs like it’s easy, like it isn’t as important as it feels, like it isn’t filling his chest from his gut all the way to his throat.

“Of course, I’m your friend.”

It’s such an easy answer. He needs to convince him how important it is, but he doesn’t know the right words to convey it. Friendship was such a foreign subject he was constantly stumbling over the definitions, what meant _what_. He sets the papers down by his bag and stands and faces the boy who sets his heart on fire.

“You’re my best friend. Shigeru you’re….” his voice catches and he hates how his words sound desperate, how it isn’t enough to convey what he really means. His hand rub over his face, “You’re my only friend. Thank you, thank you I can’t-”

He’s cut off by Yahaba encircling his arms around his shoulders and pressing him tightly into his chest, he inhales loud and shaky at the contact. He can hear his heartbeat reverberate through his ear drums.

“The smallest acts of kindness set you off, it kills me.”

He can hear the pain in Yahaba’s voice but he doesn’t quite understand it. He’s grateful, it shouldn’t hurt.  There is a brief squeeze and then Yahaba moves back, hands sliding up to Kyoutani’s shoulders. His gaze is scrutinizing as it trails from his eyes down to his mouth where it lingers a little longer than necessary. Kyoutani watches Yahaba’s teeth dig into his bottom lip and wonders if Yahaba wants to kiss him. He knows he would let him, would like it. He knows he wants him to.  But Yahaba is pulling away and shaking his head slightly.

His voice comes out strained,  “Get some rest okay? I’ll wake you up in the morning. If you need anything my room is at the end of the hall and the bathroom is the room beside this one.”

Kyoutani nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He feels like they’re both balancing on the edge of something dangerous, both scared of how fatal a misstep could be. “Night, Shigeru.”

“Good night, Kentarou.” He flashes him a quick smile and leaves the room.

Kyoutani doesn’t move until he hears the sound of the door down the hall shutting. He flicks off the light and sends the room into darkness. It’s so quiet, he doesn’t know how he’s gone without this solitude for so long. He crawls under the duvet and his body practically sings as it sinks against the mattress. He’s unsure how he’ll be able to give this up for hard floors ever again. He presses his thumb to his lip as the exhaustion overtakes him. He falls asleep imagining what the pressure of Yahaba’s lips would feel like against his own.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Yahaba can’t sleep. His body is too hyper aware of the presence three doors down from his room. He lies in his bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. He’d almost kissed him. His fingers clutch into fists at his side, his heart feels impossibly heavy.  He regrets it, he doesn’t, his mind can’t settle on what was right. His thoughts are like an endless rebound.

Would a kiss ruin this?  

He thinks it would be a selfish act. What if he alienated Kyoutani? He’s all he has. He’s not taking advantage of him, _he’s not._ But he wants, he wants so much. He wants to show him he’s good and loved, that he deserves happiness. He wants to tell him _I’m lonely too_ , wants to tell him _you make it easier to not be_. He wishes he could give him more.

_It’s not enough, it’s not enough._

He sighs and presses his hands to his face, curling up onto his side. He thinks it was easier before, when he was just a boy with an attitude problem. Someone annoying, someone who pissed him off, when he wasn’t someone who he couldn’t stop thinking about. He wonders where he’d be now if he hadn’t walked into the locker room and instantly he hates himself. This was something good. It was hard, but it was good and he didn’t want to give it up.

With a frustrated groan he climbs out of bed and begins pacing, his feet wearing into hardwood. He glances at his desk, it’s a mess of old newsprint and an assortment of paints. Just another hobby he’d taught himself. Yahaba was always learning something, anything to fill the excess of empty time that snuck up on him, anything to keep him busy. He’s debating checking on Kyoutani and wonders if he’s having trouble sleeping too. His mind flashes to the sleeping pills he had seen a month ago and it’s enough to make the decision for him.

It’s easy to make his way down the hallway without a sound. He’s had years of knowing exactly where to step and perfected his movements. The door is open which makes it easier to move into the room. Moonlight is filtering through the window and it highlights Kyoutani’s features in soft splashes. He’s sprawled out on the bed and Yahaba watches transfixed by the easy rise and fall of his chest.  His hard edges are gone, he’s just looks peaceful. Yahaba can feel the heaviness in his chest start to melt away. He wants to keep him here, wants him to look like that all the time.

He thinks they’re going to be okay.

He steals a couple more glances before he feels borderline creepy, scared that Kyoutani will suddenly wake up and catch him. He’ll never want to stay over again. He goes back to his room and settles back into bed. When sleep comes it doesn’t come easy. He thinks about moonlight, wild amber eyes and feral grins. He dreams about being eaten alive.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Yahaba spends his first waking moments scrutinizing his face in the mirror, his fingers rubbing along the dark circles under his eyes. It only makes it worse. He’s sure they mirror Kyoutani’s own, a feat he didn’t think humanly possible. He’s put off going back to the guest room as long as possible, killing time by preparing breakfast and their lunches; he feels ridiculously domestic for a teenager.

It’s only after he’s showered and changed into his school uniform that he slinks into the room. He’s still sprawled out, the sheets strewn over his sleeping form. Yahaba moves in closer until his hand is hovering inches from Kyoutani’s sleeping face. He wants to trace the ridges of his cheekbones, count the freckles the sunlight is kindly illuminating. He’s stopped by the memory of yesterday, the painful longing he had heard in Kyoutani’s voice. Longing for something Yahaba couldn’t give him. He pulls his hand back and cradles it tight against his chest,  like he doesn’t trust it not to act on it’s own volition. He hopes his voice will be enough.

“Ken, wake up.”

He watches as eyebrows crease and settle, there is a mumbled groan as he rolls away towards the wall.

Yahaba wishes he had thought to take pictures because he’s going to burn this sleep stained image into his brain. If Kyoutani had caught him he would have murdered him, but he thinks it would have been a worthy cause to die for. He grins and uses his most annoying tone of voice to stretch out the syllables of Kyoutani’s name.

“Shut up, shut up and go away.” He groans, voice muffled against the pillow. He burrows deeper under the blankets to prove his point, making a noise of protest. “ I’m never leaving this bed you can’t make me.”

Yahaba honestly wants nothing more than to keep him here. He considers, for the briefest of moments, letting him sleep and skipping school for the day.  He can’t though, they both have responsibilities: School, jobs, volleyball.  He jostles the mattress with his foot, “ I made eggs.”

Kyoutani makes an agreeable noise from underneath the covers.  
  
“There’s coffee, too.”

That’s the magic word, enough to get him to peek his head out. He has a sleepy grin on his face and his hair's a mess, sticking out at all angles. Yahaba’s heart does somersaults.  Kyoutani Kentarou is impossibly unbearably cute in the morning, it’s a crime.

“Coffee.”

“Coffee,” He agrees with a laugh. “ Honestly how do you get up by yourself everyday?”

Kyoutani sits up and stifles a loud yawn, the blanket draped around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. “S’easy when you don’t got a bed. Not comfy.”

Yahaba thinks that the past month has let him be endeared to all sorts of Kyoutani’s characteristics, but he doesn’t think anything can come close to how much he likes him right now. Sleepy and soft, how the stress hasn’t fully settled into his skin yet,  how he’s completely at ease and content. He wishes he could always be this way. He wishes it was that simple.

It feels like a dangerous thing to offer, but the words are out of his mouth before he can take them back. “You can stay here more, if you want to.”

The resulting silence fills him with a pang of regret. He clenches his fists ready for the moment to have fled, ready for a fight. Kyoutani won’t meet his eyes and he can see his fingers digging into the sheets. He’s ready to take it back, is almost about to but Kyoutani speaks first.

“Okay.”

It’s hard to keep the disbelief from his voice, that wasn’t what he expected. “Okay?”

“Okay. I’d like that. If it’s alright, I mean, until your parents are back or something…” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, Yahaba thinks the feeling of disbelief is mutual.  

Yahaba nods, pressing his hand to his mouth to smother the grin he has. A month ago this would have lead to a fight, Kyoutani wouldn’t even have been in his house a month ago.   “You’re actually agreeing.”

Their eyes finally meet and Kyoutani is smirking, it lacks any of its usual bite. His hands smooth over the mattress in appreciation. “I hope you know I’m doing this for the bed.”

Yahaba gives a mock gasp, his hand placed over his heart. He can feel his heartbeat fluttering erratically, he’s glad Kyoutani can’t hear it. “You wound me, asshole.”

“ Boo hoo.” He extracts himself from the bed, rolling his shoulders and stretching. Yahaba doesn’t take his eyes off the flash of stomach revealed as the hem of his shirt rises, his sweatpants are slung dangerously low on his hips. This, is his favourite Kentarou. He feels his mouth go dry.  Kyoutani quirks his eyebrow at him when he catches his eye.

Yahaba is sure his face is flushing, he feels the heat in his cheeks.  His gaze focuses on a point past Kyoutani’s head and mutters,“There's extra towels in the bathroom, hurry up so you can eat and not make us late for school.”

Kyoutani replies with a nod, moving past Yahaba and playfully bumping his shoulder as he heads into the hall.  Yahaba knows he’s in the bathroom when he hears a delighted shout.

“Holy shit, your duck collection is real!”

Any other sound is filtered out by the sound of running water.

Yahaba let’s out amused laugh. He’s happy. He’s going to get to spend two weeks in his home with the boy he likes. With the boy that he hopes likes him back.

They head to school together and Yahaba is already counting down seconds to lunch, until the final bell. For once he has a reason to look forward to going home, he knows when he get’s there it won’t be empty for long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I kept you waiting so long for this! Thank you so so so much to everyone who commented or sent me messages or anons on tumblr you keep this thing going. So I've been working on this chapter for a few weeks and I've decided to split it so I could actually have something to share with you. So I should hopefully have the next chapter up soon and you won't have to wait months for it. Thanks again!!

Kyoutani is panting, each breath a ragged puff of air as the weight of his feet against the pavement reverberates through his body. For once he isn't running away but towards something; there’s a sort of irony to it. He ran away from home, he ran away from his team and he ran from his problems. Running was what he was good at. For once it felt good to run. This time towards something, something good, friendship or something more that didn’t quite have a name yet. He thinks he’s almost evolving into someone he can stand.

He’s going to be late. Really he was late fifteen minutes ago. His breath stutters unevenly as he pushes himself harder, faster.  He’s rewarded with a stitch in his side but he ignores it.  He doesn’t want to miss this and he hopes he hasn’t already. Why hadn’t Yahaba told him?

Now that he's thinking about it, searching for the red flags and warning signs, he can recall the exact moment where Yahaba _would_ have told him. How the other boy had asked about work and if he would have to be there today specifically. How resigned and disappointed he was when Kyoutani had replied _yes_. That when Kyoutani had tried to ask why he had refused to answer. It had bothered him then but he had forgotten about it. He should have forced the issue and gotten Yahaba to confess. He wouldn't have had to lie to his manager and he certainly wouldn’t be sprinting back to school.

He wouldn't be worried about missing Yahaba’s captaincy ceremony.

He almost crashes into a cluster of students as he rounds a corner. The sound of their cursing trails after him but he doesn't look back or bother to apologize. Their uniforms belong to Seijou so he knows the school is close. He’s never been so grateful to see that ugly plaid. The pain in his side is becoming a bit less bearable and getting harder to ignore. When the double doors of the gym come into view he surges forward. It’s too much momentum and he loses his footing.  His hands hit the gravel followed by the rest of him. The searing tear in his palms reminds him of a perfectly executed spike but it lacks the same pleasantry. It takes a moment for his body to process the abrupt stop, all he can feel is a rough burning sensation.  His breathing is ragged and his heartbeat pulses in his eardrums. Swearing he holds his palms up; beads of blood are forming over small gashes and there are tiny fragments of rock embedded under the skin. A quick glance around confirms that the pathway is empty and he’s glad there’s no witnesses. Shakily he stands and a pang of pain in his knee causes him to stumble. Cautiously he rubs at it, smearing blood into the dark denim in the process. There's a rip forming and somehow he’s managed to ruin yet another pair of jeans. The amount of clothes he has is slowly dwindling and the next pay cheque probably won’t be able to cover anything new. Just another thing on his long list of things to take care of.

A few tentative steps are filled with a dull pain, but he’s been hurt worse. This is a just a minor inconvenience in comparison and at least it won’t leave him limping for a week.  It should be a priority to clean off his hands and remove the gravel, his hands are important after all but...

He’s late.

He doesn't go to the gym doors but instead the window. Peering inside he can see the team sitting in a half circle at centre court. The only ones standing are Oikawa and Yahaba. Oikawa is mid-speech, hands splayed over Yahaba's shoulders. A familiar pang of jealously crawls through Kyoutani’s stomach. They make a weird portrait standing like that; captain and captain to be. Yahaba's smile is forced and it’s weak in comparison to the one he’s been wearing their past few days together. Kyoutani can tell he’s made up of all nerves; it’s in the way his fingers twitch at his sides. He must not have made his speech yet.

He didn't run all this way just to peep through a window. There is an uneasy feeling in his gut when he thinks about the attention he's going to get just by entering the gym. He pauses and steels himself before pushing the doors open. They're old and poorly rusted so his entrance is announced with a wailing creak. The whole team swivels to face him, their expressions changing from curious to confused. Watari grins at him while Oikawa looks at him suspiciously.

And Yahaba…

Yahaba’s eyes are wide with disbelief. He had managed to surprise him at least.  Kyoutani can see the muscles in his jaw at work, trying to tame his smile from getting too wide. Just for that he thinks the embarrassment, the running and the blood, it was worth it.

Yahaba covers his mouth with his hand in an attempt to suppress his smile. It must give Oikawa the wrong impression because he removes his hands from Yahaba’s shoulders in an airy gesture.

“It’s nice of you to join us Mad Dog-chan! I'm sorry but this isn't a wedding and you can't just run in here and object to our new captain.”  His voice is pleasant enough to hide how the words are meant to cut.

Kyoutani feels the back of his neck heat up as Oikawa dramatically points in his direction. This felt far worse than he anticipated and of course Oikawa would turn something small into a spectacle. He can hear a few people snickering and his nails dig into his already aching palms. If it wasn’t for Yahaba he would turn around and leave. His instinct to fight instantly flares up. He wants to tell Oikawa to shut up, tell him that he's  glad to be rid of him and that if we could have objected to captains he wouldn't even be standing there. It's on the tip of his tongue but he bites it down, presses his nails in deeper. Despite Kyoutani’s utter lack of like for him Oikawa wasn’t a bad captain. He had let him play as a regular, he tossed for him. He would never admit it to Oikawa’s face though and engaging him would go straight to his perfectly kept head.

And he didn’t want to ruin this for Yahaba.

He shrugs his shoulders in dismissal and refuses to even look at Oikawa. He sits behind the team with a grunt, putting enough distance between himself and everyone else. He’s closest to Watari who turns around and gives him a small wave. He nods his head in response; he doesn’t want to show his hands.

It’s thanks to Watari he even made it here.

They hadn't really talked outside of practice but he knows Watari and Yahaba are close.  Kyoutani had often wondered if Watari resented him for taking his best friend's attention. He had thought wrong. The other boy had stopped him in the hallway before his last period and asked him if he was going today. He didn’t seem surprised that Kyoutani didn’t have a clue about what was happening. Watari had asked him to come and insisted it would mean a lot to Yahaba if he was there. The whole thing had caught him off guard, he hadn’t expected Yahaba to keep something like this from him. He didn’t know if Yahaba actually wanted him there but he was resolved to show up. It seemed like the only way to show gratitude for the boy who had put him back together. If he wasn’t wanted he would leave. He’d done it before.

“I'm glad you could make it Kyoutani.”  Yahaba voice cuts over Oikawa’s and the laughter, his voice is completely genuine; warm and honest.   

Kyoutani gives a curt nod, filled with relief that his doubts are silenced. That Yahaba wanted him here. He's glad too but that's something he'll tell him in private.

Oikawa looks from Yahaba to Kyoutani with an arched eyebrow, lips quirking into a smile that Kyoutani doesn’t quite like the look of. Yahaba doesn't give him any time to question it and instead begins to address the team. When he speaks his voice is clear and confident. When he speaks he has the tone of a captain.

Kyoutani's heart swells with warmth.

Yahaba begins by thanking Oikawa and admitting his fears of taking the place of a captain he admires and respects. Fear isn’t in his voice however; he’s finally accepted that he can fulfil the role. That he can be his own person and not someone trying to be Oikawa. He promises the team as much.  Promises them to defeat Karasuno and Shiratorizawa, whoever they'll have to face. He promises them a place at nationals. He promises to captain a team that will make the third years proud.

The team responds in kind by filling the gym with cheers and applause.  Kyoutani isn't the cheering type but he gives Yahaba a look. He hopes it can convey an ounce of what he feels towards him, that he’s proud Yahaba is his captain and he’ll never hesitate to follow him onto a court.

Oikawa wipes away at tears that aren't there and ruffles Yahaba’s hair. “They grow up so fast. You won’t let us down Haba-chan.”

Yahaba preens, shoulders ducking and his smile sheepish.  Strands stick up at odd angles and he rushes to smooth them down. “Thank you Oikawa-San. The team and I want to wish the third years good luck in university and we hope you’ll come and watch our matches.”

From the floor Iwaizumi replies, “We wouldn’t miss them for the world.”

It fills Kyoutani with a quiet kind of determination. If Iwaizumi will be watching their matches than Kyoutani can't disappoint him. If Yahaba isn’t scared of taking Oikawa’s place he can’t be scared of taking Iwaizumi’s. He has to improve and be better. A glance towards Kindaichi proves he has a kindred spirit. With Yahaba as his setter he thinks he can achieve it. He wishes they could start the season already, he wants to play. Just sitting on the court is making him feel restless.

The third years nod, they’re all in agreement to come back and watch them play. With a wide grin Oikawa slings his arm back over Yahaba’s shoulders.  Kyoutani is jealous at how effortless Oikawa makes touching Yahaba look. He’s always second guessing, hesitating and keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s time to celebrate and treat our favourite kouhais,” shouts Oikawa.

Iwaizumi stands and takes his place beside Oikawa. It's barely noticeable but Kyoutani can see something in Oikawa settle. Iwaizumi elbows him in the side and says, “Be sure to treat yourselves extra well because Oikawa is paying.”

There's a chorus of _thank you Oikawa_ , the loudest voices belonging to a laughing Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

Oikawa rubs at his side pouting. “Mean, all of you.”

The team begins to stand up and Kyoutani realizes that this is the last time that they’ll all be together. It feels wrong to miss something you've barely experienced, but he misses them already. Wishes that maybe they could have played more together.

A small touch on his shoulder catches his attention and he blinks at Watari. He mouths a silent _thank you_ before heading over to talk to Kindaichi and Kunimi. Kyoutani doesn’t get to form a response because Yahaba promptly appears in the vacated spot. He’s fidgeting again.

”You’re here,” Yahaba says sounding relieved, “I thought you had work.”

Kyoutani doesn’t make a move to get up, just tilts his head and peers at Yahaba through his dark lashes. He tries to tame the frustration from his voice because he isn’t really angry and they’ve been good about arguing lately.  “I did. If you had just told me what today was I wouldn’t have had to fake being sick and run all the way back to school. I could have just taken the day off.”

“It wasn’t that important,” Yahaba rubs his hand over the back of his neck and frowns.” I didn’t think you’d want to come and I didn’t want to waste your time.”

“Asshole it is important. I'm a part of this team too, I'm trying to be. You don’t get to make decisions for me.” He mutters trying to keep his voice low.  What he doesn't say is _you're important to me too._

He can sense the rest of the team glancing at them. Oikawa is whispering animatedly to an impassive Iwaizumi and he thinks he sees a smug Hanamaki receiving a decent sum of cash from Matsukawa. It looked like enough to feed him for a week and he really hoped the team wasn’t placing bets on them.

He adds, “Watari told me.”

“Of course he did. I can’t believe him.”  Yahaba flushes and looks towards Watari, the other boy seems to notice and grins shrugging his shoulders in a what-can-you-do gesture. Yahaba flips him off. “C’mon we should go.”

Yahaba extends his hand out to help Kyoutani up. He hesitates to take it, instantly feeling self-conscious. If people were watching before they’re definitely looking now. Seconds pass before he gives in and grabs the offered hand. He doesn't hide the wince at the unexpected pressure, his wounds had gone forgotten. He was too caught up with Yahaba. The blood has dried and some of it flakes off against Yahaba's hand. With raised eyebrows he takes it back in his own and examines the scrapes. Kyoutani’s face heats up and it takes every ounce of willpower to not snatch his hand back. People were watching but Yahaba was holding his hand so carefully, so gentle. He couldn't allow himself to ruin this moment.

“How did this happen?” He sounds upset.

“I ran here because some idiot thought i wouldn’t want to come to his captain coronation. I also fell in the process. It’s nothing, it’s fine.” His words come out strained and he directs his gaze to the ground. His palm was starting to feel hot.

“It’s not nothing, we have to clean this or it’s going to get infected.” Yahaba must sense everyone’s looks towards them because he sighs and drops Kyoutani's hand.

Kyoutani immediately misses the touch.

“How are you going to play volleyball with gangrene?”

Kyoutani gives a dry laugh while shaking his head.  “You’re such a drama queen. I didn’t want to miss your speech.”

The air shifts and suddenly Oikawa is beside the pair of them. Kyoutani automatically tenses up and instinctively takes a step back. With a cringe he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, balling them up into fists.

Oikawa smirks at the both of them. “Is everything alright Yahaba-chan?”

Yahaba hums, his lips forming a small smile. “I’m just starting my captain duties early. If it’s okay we’ll meet up with you at the restaurant.”

“Oh? That’s fine. Don’t let Kyouken murder you though. I don’t have another favourite kouhai to replace you with.” He directs his gaze to Kyoutani, he looks thoughtful but Kyoutani thinks it looks sinister. He bristles, if anyone is getting murdered it’d be Oikawa.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that Oikawa-san. We won’t be too long”

Yahaba gives Oikawa a small wave and grabs Kyoutani by his sleeve, pulling him with him towards the manager’s office. Kyoutani makes an annoyed noise but allows himself to be pulled. Yahaba could’ve let him be more dignified.  He refuses to turn around and it’s for the best because he doesn’t want to see the expression Oikawa or the rest of the team is wearing.

He doesn’t get to hear Oikawa mumble that it’s maybe Kyoutani he should be worried about either.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The manager’s office is small and holds a single desk with an old computer. A swivel chair sits behind it and is covered with an abandoned seijou jacket. There's a filing cabinet stuffed in the corner with an assortment of potted plants, it’s overgrown and the leaves trail down and off its side. Yahaba heads over to it and busies himself retrieving the first aid kit stashed there. Another chair sits in front of the door and Kyoutani immediately slumps into it, his fatigue catching up to him. He tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling and lets out a tired sigh, “Everyone was looking at us. And Oikawa.”

“Let them look.” Yahaba waves a hand in dismissal, beginning to empty the first aid kit of gauze, alcohol wipes, scissors and tweezers. “Everyone thinks you still hate me since I shoved you at the tournament.”

“I don’t hate you,” he replies urgently, his head snapping forward to look at Yahaba. The thought of him thinking that fills him with dread.   
  
“I know that,” he gestures for Kyoutani to remove his hands from his pockets. “Hands.”

Kyoutani pulls them out, facing them palm up and mumbles, “It’s just... embarrassing. To have the team stare. At us.”

Yahaba takes them in his own and holds them steady. He can feel his pulse quicken at the contact. When the alcohol wipe meets the cuts there's a sharp sting. Kyoutani can’t help but hiss and attempt to pull away. Yahaba doesn’t let go, just gives him a chastising look and tightens his hold. Kyoutani hadn’t had to clean a wound for a while and it wasn't a procedure he missed.

It wasn’t something he wanted to remember.

“I thought you didn’t care what people thought about you,” Yahaba says as he continues rubbing away at the dried blood. When the wound is cleaned and all that remain are angry red lines he tosses the sheets into the garbage. Picking up the tweezers he leans in, his face is close enough that Kyoutani can feel the heat of his breath against his palm. It’s a weird sensation, the contrasting warmth of Yahaba’s breath and the cold sting of metal and stone in his palms.  

He watches Yahaba deftly work out the pebbles, taken in by his unshaken concentration.  His brows are scrunched up and Kyoutani catches his tongue peeking out from the side of his mouth. It’s unbearably cute. There aren’t too many rocks and Yahaba makes short work of them. Idly he wonders if it will scar. If it does he’ll remember Yahaba's hands against his own, skin against skin.

All his other scars brought up bad memories.

He responds with his voice low, “I don't but it's different with you. You're captain now and what if they stop respecting you because of me. I don’t--”

Yahaba laughs like it's funny, like it's a ridiculous concept. “And why would they do that?”

“Because I'm just a mad dog, right?” He says mad dog like the words are filthy in his mouth, like they taste foul. Kyoutani bows his head, he doesn’t want to look at Yahaba in case he agrees with him. He doesn’t think he does but…

Yahaba instantly stills and sets the gauze he had begun to unwind back down. He gives Kyoutani's palm a gentle squeeze. “Hey.”

Kyoutani shakes his head. He doesn't know how to explain to Yahaba. How to help him figure out that this, whatever this is, might not be worth the trouble. He realizes in this moment that he's giving Yahaba an out and he hates himself.  So much for his self-improvement.

“Kentarou,” Yahaba’s voice is convicted, it’s the tone that came across in his speech.

He still does not raise his head, but he wants to.

“You're not that at all and I’m never going to call you that, okay?” he gives his hand a squeeze again, “So let them talk! Who cares what they have to say?  Anyone who can't respect me can be a benchwarmer. I will handle them. ”

Kyoutani cares. He cares so much that he thinks it was easier when it was just himself he had to care about. Yahaba's hands cup his face and draw it up, their faces are parallel and it's such an extreme closeness Kyoutani exhales sharply. It’s hard to meet Yahaba’s eyes at first, he looks everywhere else but all he can see is Yahaba Yahaba Yahaba. The firm line of his mouth, his furrowed brow, freckles.

Yahaba continues to speak, “We're a team. Hiding isn't going to make anyone accept you and neither is pretending to be all hard edges. I know you, you're not that tough. You have to let the team see that too.”

He thinks he's starting to figure out what to do with kindness, he thinks he's been handling it wrong. Trying to deny it before anything can come from it and not letting himself get attached or hopeful. He’s been too afraid of the potential disappointment. He thought it had been easier that way. He was wrong. Yahaba is the first person that he's ever let in and he doesn’t regret it. He just has to convince himself that Yahaba doesn’t regret this. It should be an easy thing but he always falters, unable to silence the _what if_. He wishes he could show how grateful he is, he wishes he could do more than just show up late to Yahaba’s captaincy ceremony. Wishes he could put less space between their faces. Say thank you with a gesture: lips against lips.

But all he can manage is to say a weak, “Okay.”

Yahaba nods and drops his hands from Kyoutani’s face. He retrieves the gauze and takes back Kyoutani’s hands. He efficiently wraps each palm until they’re both covered. It’s probably unnecessary, the bleeding had stopped a long time ago and he knows it’ll just lead to more questioning looks later.

“I’m sorry you ran here for me. I won’t keep things from you again and I’m glad you’re here.  I’m glad you wanted to be. It really means a lot.” Yahaba bows his head, he hasn’t let go of Kyoutani’s hands even though he’s finished his work. His thumbs trace circles against the gauze and Kyoutani can feel a brief tremor from the fingers pressed against his knuckles. He’s nervous.  
  
Kyoutani is watching their hands, annoyed that the cloth bandage prevents a closer sort of touch.  He’s sure the feel of Yahaba’s hands against his shouldn’t illicit such a tightness in his throat. He swallows and says, “Shigeru.”

At his name he tilts his head up, their eyes meet.  Yahaba’s eyes are hopeful, Kyoutani’s are honest.

“I’m happy you’re going to be my captain.” Kyoutani smiles, it’s a faint twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Thank you,” He hesitates before he breaks into a smile of his own, “I’m happy you’re going to be my ace.”

There's a pressure against Kyoutani’s hands, a squeeze, it tethers him in place and then Yahaba is closing the distance between them. It’s soft and tentative, but his lips brush against Kyoutani’s. His whole body melts forward in response and he can’t help the surprised noise that slips from his lips. He captures the chaste kiss and pushes back, he wants more. He’s wanted to do this for so long; it's nothing like he’s imagined and yet it is everything. He puts everything into it; he doesn’t know how to do half measures. Every press of their mouths is Kyoutani saying thank you, thank you, _thank you_.  Yahaba makes a delighted hum when the kiss is reciprocated; his hands trail up to cup the back of Kyoutani’s neck. When both boys break apart, their breathing laboured, it’s like running all over again but with the added bliss of reaching his destination.

Here, he thinks, is home.  

Yahaba presses his forehead against Kyoutani’s and just rests there, eyes closed. His smile is pleased and between breaths he says, “I've wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Kyoutani blinks slightly surprised. For how long he wonders.  He had suspected it, but it never felt like an obtainable thing. He didn't think he could have this. But now that he’s had it he wants more, wants it forever and doesn’t want to stop. This contact, this warmth that’s in his gut and the feeling of pressure on his lips is something he never wants to lose. He barely manages to say, “I’ve wanted to-- I've wanted you, too.”

Yahaba laughs in reply and pulls away giving Kyoutani a proper once over. “I'm sorry I took so long.”

“It’s okay,” he grins and then adds, “captain.”

Yahaba laughs again; Kyoutani doesn't think he could tire of that sound. Yahaba leans in and presses kisses to the corners of his mouth.  “We should go but I don't want to. I don’t want to stop I mean.” The words vibrate against his skin and Kyoutani laughs. It causes Yahaba to redouble his efforts; he kisses his cheek, his forehead, his nose.

Kyoutani just laughs harder; this is happiness he thinks.

“I don't want to stop or go. I just want you and this.” His bandaged hands come up to touch Yahaba’s cheeks. He directs their lips back together and kisses him soft and sweet. He wants to be gentle, he wants to be good. Had he ever known the wonder of soft and tender things? Yahaba slides his tongue into Kyoutani's mouth and it tastes like a reminder.

Yahaba puts his hands over Kyoutani’s and then he’s leaning back, “You’re making this very difficult. C’mon, the sooner we go the sooner we can get back to this.” He punctuates with a single kiss before he’s pulling back completely, softly removing Kyoutani’s hands from his face.

Kyoutani groans and forcibly slumps back against the chair. Every muscle in him is yelling to go forward, close the distance, _keep kissing._ He fidgets now that he can’t fulfil the action his body wants. His foot taps and he crosses his arms over his chest just to uncross them again. His fingers come up to his lips and press against them, it’s not the same pressure but it eases how badly he _wants._ His tone is nothing but impatient, _“_ Fine, okay, fine. Let’s go. _”_

Yahaba’s hair is dishevelled and his teeth are biting into his swollen lips (it’s doing obscene things to Kyoutani’s already fraying self-control), it appears he’s having trouble with restraint too. Yahaba levels him with a look, it says _calm down._ He pulls his cellphone from his pocket and taps out a long winded message; it must be hard for him to focus because he spends half the time deleting and retyping.  Kyoutani thinks this is time that would be better spent kissing.

“Okay, I told them we’re on our way. Oikawa already texted me five times. He definitely thinks you’ve done something irresponsible to my person.”

Kyoutani arches his eyebrow and scoffs, “I would like to do something irresponsible to your person. Are you going to let me?”

Yahaba whole face flushes and he responds with a distraught sound. He practically hisses _later as_ he hastily wipes down the tweezers with an alcohol wipe. He wastes no time shoving the first aid kit back together. When he turns back around he seems more put together and a little less flustered. Kyoutani wishes he were that lucky, his brain is stuck on kissing and how it isn’t currently happening to him.  It must show because Yahaba gives him a sympathetic look and leans in to give him a quick peck. It’s hardly enough to sate him.

“You really are more of a puppy. C’mon let’s go, I know you want to take advantage of unlimited food on Oikawa-san.”

Kyoutani shrugs and unfolds himself from the chair. “I’m going to buy the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Yahaba promptly elbows him, “Don’t be such an asshole.”

“Second most expensive.”

Yahaba grins and elbows him again. He’s reminded of Oikawa and Iwaizumi. He wonders if that will be the two of them next year. He remembers the first day with Yahaba, at the fast food place and how he had mentioned Oikawa. Kyoutani would have never thought it would be Iwaizumi but it made sense. He never thought it’d be Yahaba either.

  
They leave the gym with their shoulders pressed together; it’s the closest form of contact they’ll allow. It’s a far cry from hands on hands, lips against lips and tongue against tongue. It’s far from what he wants, but it’s enough. He doesn't think about the bandages on his hands or what the team will think of them. All he thinks about is the boy at his side and how as soon as this is over he’s going to get to kiss him again. And again, and again.


	7. Chapter 7

When they arrive at the restaurant Kyoutani thinks he recognizes it. It’s not a place he’s ever been inside before, it’s a bit too fancy for his budget. It’s somewhere he’s definitely passed on his way to school. Yahaba doesn’t let him idle outside which is for the best, it means he doesn’t have time to let his thoughts wander. It’s not really busy inside, there are more empty tables than patrons. They don’t see the team so much as hear them; the sound of their laughter and shouting trail from further in and they follow after it. The team has taken up the entire back room; all spread out along a bunch of tables they've pushed together. Kindaichi and Watari are currently racing each other to finish their udon while Oikawa is trying to no avail to hand feed Iwaizumi shrimp. All across the table is a scattered assortment of food: yakiniku, sushi, bowls of ramen. It’s more food than Kyoutani thinks he's ever seen. Matsukawa is the first to notice their arrival and he responds with a crooked smile, proceeding to nudge Hanamaki to catch his attention.  

When he sees them Hanamaki gives a delighted cry, clapping his hands together.  He shouts, “Our new captain has arrived!”

With an enthusiasm unusual to his deadpan nature Matsukawa adds, “With our future ace!”

The entire team pauses from eating to turn to the both of them. Kyoutani blinks before going wide eyed. He never expected to be included in the celebrations. This was for Yahaba and the third years; he was never supposed to factor in. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be here. He looks at Yahaba and doesn’t expect to find him so pleased. He doesn't expect the team to reciprocate either, but there is no hesitation as they erupt into loud cheers. He keeps waiting for the moment to fade, an objection or a look of disappointment. It never comes.

He’s starting to feel like he belongs somewhere.

It’s almost too much. The joy he feels is an overwhelming thing and he didn’t know he could feel happy for such a long time. Didn't realize what he wanted could be obtainable. He felt like it came in fragments and left him an unfinished jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces nowhere to be found. It left him uncertain he could be whole. Yahaba had taken his time and found those pieces. He had helped fill up the empty space. It was as if the touch of his lips had started a catalyst inside of him. He wonders if anyone else can notice the change or if it wasn't a tangible thing. He digs his fingers into his palms; he’s rewarded with an ache that’s enough to ground him. It was a reminder of his reality, that he was here and that this was not a dream he would wake up from.

Kyoutani bows his head low and then looks up at the team; his team. He forces all of his gratitude into his voice when he says, “thank you.”

They all cheer again, if possible louder. It was something he didn't think he would experience again after the spring tournament. But today seemed to be a day full of possibility.

Yahaba ushers him over to the only empty seats left, his fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder.  It takes every muscle to not lean into it; he’s going to have to learn restraint. The seats are beside Iwaizumi and Oikawa, he somehow thinks this was set up and another way to reinforce the team’s changing dynamic. He doesn't dwell on it, the sight of food causes his stomach to grumble. They waste no time eating and they eat a lot. He still isn’t sure how Oikawa is able to afford this entire dinner. Kyoutani doesn’t order the most expensive thing or the second, he orders his favourite instead. No one questions his bandaged hands when he holds his chopsticks and he has a sneaking suspicion the long text message Yahaba had sent was for his benefit.

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into conversation with his teammates, it’s unexpected but welcome. He had built it up to be a terrible and painful thing. He talks to Matsukawa about a dog he’s recently rescued and gives him advice on how to treat the fleas that came with it. Kindaichi and him end up arguing over Japan’s top spikers. It’s mid sentence when he realizes how much he’s missed out on. The regret lingered in his thoughts, the question of _what if_. He knows he can be better. To call himself the ace he has to be. He has to do it for the team and for Yahaba, but he has to for himself.

It’s hard not to keep stealing glances towards Yahaba throughout dinner, he tries to be subtle but half the time they catch each other in the act. Eyes lingering too long before they quickly glance away. Yahaba casually bumps their legs together under the table and he practically chokes at the contact. Yahaba makes an obnoxious show of nudging his water towards him, a lazy smirk on his face. Kyoutani stops looking after that but their legs stay pressed together. He’s actually enjoying himself which helps act as a distraction but he can’t help his mind from coming back to Yahaba and his stupid mouth.

The taste of him.

Yahaba isn’t faring any better he thinks, Kyoutani can feel his leg as he fidgets. He’s spent most of the dinner talking with Watari and Oikawa. It’s the third time that Oikawa has to repeat himself that does it really. Oikawa just temples his fingers together and serves him a cool look, the corners of his mouth twitching up to a grin. Yahaba doesn’t seem to pay it much mind but Kyoutani catches it and _knows;_ Oikawa has them figured out. When Oikawa opens his mouth Kyoutani tries to brace himself, his hands make fists underneath the table.

“I think we’ve celebrated enough. It’s late and we have finals coming up. _I,_ need my beauty sleep and all of you could use some. Especially you Iwa-chan-- ow!” Oikawa rubs at his arm from where Iwaizumi’s punched him. With a pout he directs his attention towards Yahaba. “Haba-chan, come help me pay for these savages. This is going to be you next year I hope you know.”

Yahaba shrugs his shoulders and smirks, “Don’t worry Oikawa-san I won’t make the same mistake as you. When it’s my turn the team will be pitching in.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Oikawa says pretending to be choked up, his hand pressed over his heart. “You’ve grown so much.” He doesn’t hesitate to give Kyoutani a glance after he finishes speaking.

It makes him grit his teeth.

Yahaba just laughs and shakes his head as he stands. The pair of them head off to the front of the restaurant, Oikawa’s head ducked low as he whispers into Yahaba's ear. Kyoutani can’t help but feel there was something implied by what Oikawa said and he’s not thrilled that Yahaba is currently alone with him. This, whatever it was, should only be theirs. He didn’t want to share it with anybody. He trusts Yahaba, knows he wouldn't talk about it, about them.  Oikawa on the other hand... his perception was a disturbing thing. It was why Kyoutani always felt so weary towards him. It wouldn’t take much to figure out why Kyoutani had almost choked with his eyes on Yahaba’s mouth earlier. If Oikawa knew he’d probably use it against him.

In both captains absence everyone starts to pack up their things. A server comes by and clears their empty plates, they've eaten everything. She seems almost mortified by the amount of food a boys volleyball team can put away.

Kyoutani can’t help but fidget in his seat, nervous and awkward. It felt easier to be here with Yahaba by his side, leg pressed against his. Somehow it had managed to ease his anxiety. He didn’t have a cellphone to pretend he was busy with and there was nothing he could contribute to the current conversation about the girls volleyball team. They were taking awfully long to settle the bill.  He’s surprised when Iwaizumi shifts over and leans into his space. It does nothing to ease his discomfort and if anything it makes it worse.

With a thoughtful voice Iwaizumi says,“Y’know, you’re going to be a good ace. Just tame that recklessness of yours and get better at receiving,” he pauses, “You have to believe in your team. Believe in Yahaba too he's going to need your support.”  
  
His eyes widen and he blinks. He never expected praise from Iwaizumi. It sends a spread of warmth to his gut and he’s sure he might be blushing. It’s a different feeling than what he felt with Yahaba, but it was still welcome. Nodding his head probably a bit too eagerly he says, “I do. Believe in them. And him. I believe in him too,” hastily he adds, “And I will. I’ll get better. I’m going to be better.”

Iwaizumi just studies his face before breaking into a grin and nods. “Good. You have no excuse to be like the third years you hated.”

“I won’t,” Kyoutani mumbles, still reeling from the compliment. He knows he won’t. Kyoutani didn't think he could ever be on a court and not put in over one hundred percent of his effort.  

Iwaizumi is about to say something more but he stops when Oikawa and Yahaba reappear. Instead he just shrugs, eyes locking on Oikawa’s. They both nod at each other, something going unspoken between them. Oikawa whines and drapes himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Iwa-chan I hope you’ll still love me now that I’m penniless.”

“Not a chance Bakawa.” Iwaizumi grunts pushing away Oikawa’s face.

Kyoutani just stares at Yahaba, searching for any evidence of discomfort. He looks calm and collected, fingers still at his sides. When their eyes meet he grins. It’s enough to settle any unease he was feeling and he can’t help it, he smiles back.

Kindaichi and Kunimi are the first to depart. It saves Kindaichi from losing in the arm wrestling match Hanamaki instigates. He's determined to defeat Iwaizumi and Kyoutani can't blame him. He volunteers to face the former ace too. If today was full of the impossible made real he felt he had a chance. He can't have it all however, his arm hits the table hard. There was no hesitation or pity from Iwaizumi over his bandaged hands and he wastes no time making short work of Hanamaki either. Kyoutani doesn’t want to push his luck, he just has to accept tht Iwaizumi is better than him. He’s okay with it, he knows he has to grow. He knows now that he can.  Yahaba sympathetically pats his shoulder while Matsukawa makes a weak attempt to comfort Hanamaki with a bribe of cream puffs. With the arm wrestling over it’s time they really leave.  Slowly the team filters out of the restaurant.

Kyoutani hangs back while everyone hugs and says their goodbyes for the night. He still didn’t feel comfortable with touching. It was something only Yahaba got away with and it had taken time; a lot of flinching. They all split up to go their separate ways home. Oikawa blows them an air kiss when he leaves, Iwaizumi by his side. They easily link their hands up as they walk off. Despite Iwaizumi’s earlier protests he didn’t even hesitate.  Kyoutani wonders if it’ll ever be easy like that for him, he doesn’t think so.

Watari lives in the same direction as Yahaba and he lingers behind to accompany them on their walk. He’s appraising both of them and smiling to himself. Watari must know too, he thinks. Kyoutani had never felt so paranoid about getting caught. It was nothing in comparison to his other secrets but Yahaba factored into those now; he was the most important secret of all. He wasn't ashamed but he didn't want to jeopardize the team for this. Yahaba seemed completely unaffected and Kyoutani envied his easy composure. Yahaba was always so sure of himself; confident. That was until he wasn’t. He thinks of why he’s even standing here and know he has to thank Watari. In his own way he had orchestrated this.

“Thank you Watari.” Kyoutani speaks and is surprised when the same words echo from Yahaba’s mouth. They turn to stare at each other, surprised. Yahaba starts to laugh and Kyoutani just smiles faintly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Watari grins back at the pair of them. “ It’s going to be my job to keep the both of you in line.”

Kyoutani shrugs while Yahaba shakes his head, pushing Watari’s shoulder. “What makes you think I’m going to need you to do that?”

“I think today is a perfect example. Let’s just call it Watarintution,” He replies with a smirk, and shoves Yahaba back.

“You can’t just make up terms after yourself like that, idiot,” Yahaba mutters.

They continue the walk spent in companionable conversation. Kyoutani doesn’t talk much, but it’s fine. He’s not excluded, just content to listen. Yahaba and Watari are still bickering. It’s interesting to watch him in a setting outside of when they’re alone together. There isn't much of a change in his personality, but it's still different. He thinks of the manager's office and it fills him with anticipation. Soon it’ll be just the two of them and he wants to continue where they left off.

They can’t get to Watari’s house fast enough and he tries to keep his pace slow. It was hard not to be eager. Everything had happened so fast and all at once, he forgot what it was like to be patient. When they finally arrive he’s relieved. Yahaba leans in close to whisper into Watari’s ear before he slaps him on the back, cheerily waving goodbye. Kyoutani’s wave lacks the same enthusiasm but Watari returns it before disappearing through the door of his house.

They continue the walk to Yahaba’s with their shoulders pressed together, the cool night air acting as the perfect cover for the proximity. Occasionally their fingers brush but they don’t take it further than that.  Their silence is easy but it’s curiosity that pushes Kyoutani to break it. He’s hesitant but he asks anyway, “Did Oikawa ask you about...y'know… us?”

Yahaba pauses in his step, blinking. “What?” he seemed genuinely shocked by the question. “No! No, he doesn’t know. I didn’t tell him. Wait, what makes you think he knows?”

“It’s Oikawa! He kept looking at me all throughout dinner.”

Yahaba just laughs, it sounds slightly off. “You are paranoid. He was just surprised you showed up, everyone was. Including me.”

Kyoutani grumbles and purposefully bumps into Yahaba’s side. “Because you didn't ask me and you were supposed to!”

“I know, I know I’m sorry.” Yahaba puts a finger to his lip thoughtfully, it’s awfully distracting and Kyoutani has half a mind to just start kissing him right here on the sidewalk. “If he does know he didn’t say anything. God, do you think we were really that obvious?”

Kyoutani shrugs, expression flustered as he looks off to the side. “I don't know. I can't stop thinking about your mouth. Usually it's your hands but now…I just--” he trails off, embarrassed about what he's just admitted as he scuffs his feet against the pavement. He rubs a hand over his face.  

Yahaba just makes a choked sound in response, turning so he’s facing him completely. It's hard to see in the dark but he thinks Yahaba’s cheeks are a shade of red. All he can catch are his eyes, bright enough to rival the stars, glinting and full of promise. “How do you feel about running?” he asks, “We need to get to my house immediately.”

Kyoutani blinks before breaking out into a wide and easy grin. “Running is what I'm good at.”

When he says it, he knows it's not necessarily a bad thing.

Yahaba grins back. “Your hands would beg to differ. Race you?”

Kyoutani just scoffs, doesn't bother with words and gives Yahaba a hard shove. He doesn’t hesitate as he bolts off towards the house. They're only a few blocks away at this point. Yahaba shouts after him before taking off in pursuit. Kyoutani has the advantage but Yahaba doesn't let him keep it. In no time they're running side by side.Their eyes meet determined, matching with wild grins.The house comes into view and they both run harder, cursing each other under their breaths and laughing. Neither of them win; they both hit the porch at the same time. Together they collapse, breathing hard. They turn and look at each other bursting into breathless laughter. Kyoutani practically doubles over with it, he feels young and happy and for once, alive. When he stops he sits up and looks at Yahaba. There's a pause and it feels like it stretches forever. He’s looking for a warning sign and when he finds none he surges forward, cupping Yahaba’s face and kissing him. It feels like the first time; charged and electric. It feels like a second time should; intrinsic. Yahaba doesn't hesitate to meet him, fisting his hands into the short blonde strands of Kyoutani's hair. He groans against his mouth when Yahaba tugs him closer.They pull away to catch their breath just to meet again; a constant ebb and flow.

They’d probably stay there all night, too lost in their fervent touches but the sound of a car engine and the brief illumination of headlights have them pulling apart. Kyoutani just rests against the wall, head tilted upward with his eyes closed. He tries to steady his breathing and the erratic beat of his heart. They could have been seen, it’s almost thrilling but it’s also a sobering thought. He blinks at the sound of a metallic clink and a frustrated curse. Yahaba has somehow managed to get to his feet and is fumbling with his keys to unlock the door.  Kyoutani isn’t sure he can stand just yet but it doesn’t matter, as soon as Yahaba has the door unlocked he’s pulling Kyoutani up and steering him through the doorway. When it’s closed behind him he leans back against the frame, fingers at his lips.

“We should--” he trails off, hesitant.

Kyoutani isn’t sure what he wants and where they should go from here. It’s such a new fragile territory and he wants to take his time to explore it, savour it and protect it. The frenetic need from earlier has faded into something calm and malleable. His voice sounds rough when he says, “We could slow down. We don’t... We don’t have to rush anything.”

Yahaba exhales,relieved. He nods his head and smiles. “Yes. That’s good. Slow, we can do slow.”

“I dunno if this goes against slow but can we…” He feels instantly stupid for asking, he doesn't think he can say the words. He just looks to the side and aggressively points towards the stairs.

Yahaba quirks an eyebrow, he doesn’t seem to get it at first but when the realization hits him his expression turns cocky. Leave it to Yahaba to be a smart ass. “You want to go upstairs?”  
  
“Don’t make me say it.” He bites out, he can feel his entire face heat up.

Yahaba shrugs, pushing off from the door. “ If you don’t say it I can’t know what you want.”

He regrets even asking, feeling embarrassed for wanting. He kicks off his shoes and starts for the stairs. “Forget it.”

Yahaba makes a strangled noise, following suit with his shoes and grabbing at Kyoutani’s shoulder to stop him. For a split second he tenses before he relaxes against his hand.

“Stop that. C’mon,” he moves his hand from his shoulder to grab his hand, “If you kick me in your sleep you have to go back to your room though.”

Kyoutani mutters, “Can I kick you right now instead?”

Yahaba grins and gives his hand a squeeze as he pulls him upstairs. He pushes Kyoutani into the spare bedroom and gives him a kiss on the forehead. “ Don’t be an ass, I didn't make you say it. Go get ready for bed.”

Kyoutani shoves him out of his room and makes a show of rubbing at his forehead in disgust. Yahaba just smiles mischievously and slips down the hallway to his own room.  “Don’t keep me waiting!” He shouts followed by a fit of laughter.  
  
“You’re the worst.” Kyoutani yells after him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

He’s resolved to take longer to make Yahaba suffer, but also in an attempt to quiet the anxiety blossoming inside his chest. They were just sharing a bed. Kyoutani had shared a room with eight boys, this shouldn’t have been a big deal. He had asked for it either way, he had wanted it. Was it such a weird thing to want? Yahaba could have said no and he hadn’t.

He slips into a threadbare baggy shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants. Pressing his fingers to the corners of his mouth he can feel his cheeks ache from all of today’s laughter and smiling. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to but he could get used to it. He wanted to, it was starting to be easier. When he brushes his teeth he can’t help but stare at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t look different. The dark circles under his eyes were only a shade or two lighter, he still looked like a faded thing. There were no marks or tell tale signs that showcased the metamorphosis taking place inside of him. He had expected there to be; some sign or wonder to portray how new he felt.

He takes his time as he heads down the hallway. The floorboards protest against his feet and creek with each step. When he enters Yahaba’s room he fidgets in the doorway shyly peering in.  Yahaba’s cocky confidence from earlier is nowhere to be found, he bites his lip when he looks up at Kyoutani. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed playing with something in his hands. Kyoutani can’t see what it is from where he’s standing and he hesitates to go further in. Yahaba just pats the vacant space beside him, pulling his legs off the floor to sit cross legged against the mattress. “You were taking so long I thought you had changed your mind.”

Kyoutani climbs onto the bed and assumes the same position, close enough that their knees touch. “I wanted you to suffer a little. What's that?” he taps a finger to Yahaba’s closed hand. Now all he can see is a sliver of aqua peaking through. It reminds him of their team colours.

Yahaba exhales and says, “Put your hands out.”

“I wish you’d stop...you don’t have to, okay?” Kyoutani makes a face and looks at his lap, he holds his hands out and cups them together.

“I know I don’t have to do anything,” Yahaba grumbles, “Do you want this or not?”  
  
Kyoutani just inches his hands out closer towards Yahaba until his fingertips are pressed against the other boy’s chest. After everything Yahaba had given him there was no way his answer would be no.  

Yahaba takes a deep breath and drops the object into Kyoutani’s open palms. He blinks once, twice, and feels a sudden ache shoot through him. It starts from his stomach and reaches all the way up to his throat. He swallows, trying to get rid of the tightness constricting him. His fingers start to tremble, he can’t stop them so he closes his fingers around the smooth wood instead; gripping it tight. Yahaba had given him a matryoshka doll, just like the ones his mother used to collect. At first glance he thinks it’s one from her collection and he wonders how Yahaba could have even obtained it. A proper look shows it’s not, the outside is hand-painted with a tiny Kyoutani wearing his number 16. He finally had an explanation for the tubes of paint he had seen strewn on Yahaba’s desk. How long had he worked on this? His teeth tear into his bottom lip, it’s nothing like the gentle pressure of Yahaba’s lips but he’s resolute to hold himself together. He barely manages to choke out, “Yahaba… you made this? For me?”

Yahaba just nods, leaning forward and swiping his thumbs over Kyoutani’s eyes. His body has obviously betrayed him, Yahaba’s fingers come away wet.

“ I did. Well I mean I painted it. When you said your mom collected these you sounded… I dunno... I figured you didn’t take one with you. I just... I just wanted to give you that. Open it”

He nods. His chest is bursting and he thinks, no, he knows, that he’s fallen in love or something like it with this boy. He thinks his mom would have liked him too. He wishes she could see the doll he held in his palm. In this moment he misses her. He misses her so much. He had been too caught up with trying to survive to let himself dwell on it. It was something that hurt too much, but with Yahaba here the pain and the longing was eased into something manageable. His fingers slip against the doll as he twists it open, he can hear a dull clunk coming from inside of it. When it’s open he’s greeted by another Kyoutani, this one is smaller and wearing the number 4. The number of an ace.  He smiles despite himself, tilting the tiny him back and forth. It emits a low rattle, holding another piece inside.  

He’s about to open it too but Yahaba takes it from his hands. “Can I?”  
  
Kyoutani studies Yahaba’s face, he can’t tell what he’s feeling but he looks determined.  He just nods.

“Okay, eyes closed.”

Kyoutani complies, scrunching his eyes closed tight. He's managed to stop more tears, at least. To eases some of the tightness in his throat he grumbles, “This better not be perverted.”   
  
“Don’t be an idiot. Whats wrong with you?” Yahaba flicks Kyoutani’s forehead in retaliation.  

He hisses, rubbing a hand over his face before putting his hands back out. He bumps them into Yahaba’s chest in an encouraging gesture. “You.”

Yahaba sighs and presses cold metal into his palm. His fingers wrap around it and find dull ridges, it bites against the gauze covered skin of his hand. He expected the texture of wood, not this.  Blinking he opens his eyes, Yahaba exhales as he inhales. In his palm sits a key.  He holds it up, heart heavy in his throat.

“Yahaba…”

“I’m asking you to stay. I… I talked to my parents about it. I didn’t go into specifics I just told them you needed a place. They said it would be fine, it’s not like they’re here a lot and we have the spare room. I don’t want you to go. When they come back I don’t want you to go. I want you to be here. And I--” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, “ you can keep your lockbox here. When school is closed for the summer. You were worried about that, right? It would be safe here. ”

He hadn’t even told Yahaba and yet he had known, figured it out. He clenches his hand into a tight fist, the serrated edges of the key pinching into his hand. Kyoutani wasn’t sure if he was getting easier to read or if Yahaba had just became an expert on who he was. He didn’t have anything left to hide from him. Yahaba was giving him more than he possibly understands and Kyoutani would have never asked for this. He feels like he should say no on principal.

But he was trying to be better; Trying not to fight kindness given to him freely.

Yahaba gave so much, each gift an anticipation to what Kyoutani needed. Things Kyoutani didn’t know how to ask for, things he would have gone without if not offered. Friendship, his game, his touch; a home.  

There is a long bout of silence before he can speak, his voice comes out low. “I’m still saving up for my own place.”

“I know.”  
  
“I want to help around here… with cleaning or buying food… anything I can’t, I can’t stay for free.”

Yahaba looks at his face with his bright eyes and his dimpled smile, he leans forward and cups his hands over Kyoutani’s own. “But you’re saying yes?”

He keeps his eyes on his tightened fists, how Yahaba’s hands cover them.  He feels the key against his hand, he squeezes harder.

“I’m not saying no....”

Yahaba leans in, eyes flickering to his mouth and back up. “Can I kiss you?”

Kyoutani exhales, closing his eyes and nodding. His voice cracks when he says, “Please.”

Yahaba presses his lips against his mouth, gentle and soft. With each kiss his fingers work against Kyoutani’s hands until he coaxes them open. He plucks the key from Kyoutani’s hand, placing it on the bedside table. Kyoutani cringes at the loss, making a keening sound against Yahaba’s mouth. He wanted to embed the key in his skin and never let go. Yahaba rubs his fingers along Kyoutani’s palms in a soothing pattern and it’s enough to calm him. He relaxes into Yahaba and slowly closes his hand over his. Yahaba breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Kyoutani’s.  “Let’s go to bed.”  
  
Kyoutani nods and lets himself be pulled down with Yahaba. It’s an awkward position at first. The bed is a single and they both have to shift around until their bodies align. Kyoutani faces the edge of the bed, back pressed against Yahaba’s stomach. His heartbeat is heavy in his chest and Yahaba’s hand hovers over it, fingers catching the fabric of his shirt. Kyoutani brings a hand up to press against it.  

Yahaba rests his chin against Kyoutani’s shoulder and presses his lips against his ear. Kyoutani can feel his smile against his neck and with a whisper he says, “Goodnight little spoon.”

Kyoutani grunts and kicks at Yahaba’s ankle. “Goodnight asshole.”

He just laughs in response, his breath warm against his skin. “What did I say about kicking?”

Kyoutani shrugs, his shoulder bumping into Yahaba’s chin in the process. He laughs as Yahaba makes a sound of protest, kicking back before settling against the other boy.  
  
They lay there in silence, the only sound belonging to their heartbeats and breathing. Yahaba isn’t asleep yet, he can tell by the flutter of his eyelashes against his neck.

“...Yahaba?”  
  
He breathes out, a rush of hot air against Kyoutani’s skin. “Mnhnm?”  
  
“Thank you,” he squeezes Yahaba’s hand, “for everything.”

Yahaba hums an affirmative noise, pressing a kiss against his neck. “Go to sleep Ken.”

“I don’t…” He wanted to tell him he was scared to go to sleep. That he didn’t want to wake up and lose this.

Yahaba groans and shifts, he pulls his hand away from Kyoutani’s and uses it to roll him against him. He presses Kyoutani’s head against his chest and tilts his head down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m going to be right here in the morning. It’s okay.”

Kyoutani mumbles an okay. His fingers twist in the fabric of Yahaba's shirt, holding him in place. Yahaba brings a free hand to card through Kyoutani’s hair and he relaxes into it, letting out a pleased sound. He can hear Yahaba’s heartbeat. It's a steady pulse and it falls in sync with the slide of fingers against his scalp. Its enough to lull him to sleep and Yahaba follows him soon after.

Kyoutani is the first to wake up in the morning. Their legs are tangled together and the comforter is half draped over them and the floor. Kyoutani's arm is numb from Yahaba's weight resting on it, but he can't complain. The first thing he saw when his eyes opened was Yahaba, soft and easy as he slept. He twists his neck slightly so he can see the bedside table. The key and the dolls are resting there.  He was afraid they would be gone but everything was in it's place, he hadn't needed to worry. He smiles and presses his face back to Yahaba's chest, content to listen to the other boy's heart and feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He didn't want to wake him just yet and he was content to just stay here.

Here, with the boy who he thought he was surely falling in love with, if he hadn't fell already. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone thank you for reading this lil fic that just came out of me getting too invested in an idea. I know I've replied to a lot of you and said I had a lot more ideas I wanted to execute with this and I do! I just dont know when I'll have the time or energy to do that. So I'm going to end Running In Place for now. Thanks to everyone who supported this you mean the world to me and I love you.


	8. EXTRA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a bed and some surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I posted this on my tumblr but I don't think that's fair to anyone who never followed me there. This is extremely old but I just reread this the other night and wow that was wild. As Justin Bieber the Canadian treasure says never say never. I find myself @ haikyuu again and a much stronger writer so maybe I can finish this how I want to someday. Thanks so much for all the comments that have accumulated and everyone that has re-read and supported me!
> 
> also poorly edited.

For the days that followed they always ended up in bed together.  If Kyoutani worked late he would use his new key to enter the house. His first attempt left him with sweaty palms and  a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Too worried that the key wouldn’t work, that this had been a joke where the punch line was him.  The successful sound of the lock’s click left him feeling foolish. Trying to trust in good things had been a slow learning process. He was trying to speed up the process.

Tonight his cheap watch read after two; Yahaba was probably already in bed. The house was lit by the soft glow of the porch lights, a contrast against the dark silhouette of trees that lined the edges of Yahaba’s property. It felt weird to be so close to the countryside when he was used to the city and the constant hum of cars. He had confessed to Yahaba that out here he felt alone, that he liked it.  The only sound here were cicadas; their screams a prelude to the coming summer. The heat was already starting to settle in and he was grateful for the luxury of air conditioning. The fun house would feel even more unbearable around now; unrelenting heat was all that place needed to feel worse. He was glad to be free of it, at least for now. The fear still lingered that he hadn’t seen the last of that water stained ceiling.

Slowly he edged the door closed behind him, toeing off his battered sneakers in exchange for house slippers. He let out a tired yawn and shuffled into the kitchen. Yahaba had made curry and apparently a mess alongside it. He had promised to let him help out, it was the only way Kyoutani could tolerate his hospitality. He didn’t have the temperament of a freeloader, he couldn’t afford to. Yahaba was never this messy so he knew it had been left this way on purpose.

Asshole.

Shaking his head he sat down and spooned the leftovers into his mouth. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of Yahaba’s cooking.  One of these days Kyoutani was going to have to try to return the favour.  He owed Yahaba a lifetime of favours for being the one good constant in his life.

But Yahaba told him he didn’t owe him a damn thing. It was hard to argue when you were flat on your back with your boyfriend hovering over you. He had stolen all of Kyoutani’s protests with sloppy open mouthed kisses.

After that the subject had been dropped.

Cooking was a stupid idea, but the best one he currently had. He’d think of something better in time. Finished, he set to work on cleaning, eager to climb into bed and get some sleep.

Beside Yahaba.

He felt embarrassed by his wide smile even though no one else was there to see it. He was allowed to have this private joy. He deserved it, right?  Ducking his head against his shoulder he let out a tired sigh.

He didn’t exactly smell pleasant.

Kyoutani hated how he smelled after a shift. Especially at the factory. He was all sweat and oil; the scent of poor man’s labour. He would have to shower before bed, he didn’t want to touch Yahaba in his grimey state.

Climbing the stairs to the bathroom was a slow process; they were so creaky. As nice as Yahaba’s home was it was old,it had been kept in his family for generations apparently. He put the water as high as scalding, watching as the bathroom clouded with steam. Stepping into the water the heat instantly eased the tension in his muscles. He scrubbed until his tan skin was flushed a shade of pink. Kyoutani now knew hot showers were a luxury he should take advantage of. He sighed and leaned his head against the tile, eyes closed. Still so tired, but…happy. It wasn’t like his problems had all been magically solved, but it was becoming bearable. He smelled like some kind of citrus now; like Yahaba. He let the water rinse over him for a few more minutes before shutting it off.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants, it was too hot for a shirt and Yahaba didn’t seem to mind. Small plum coloured  bruises were along his ribs to prove it. Their first kiss had abolished all of Yahaba’s restraint when it came to touching. Kyoutani had been surprised at how much he liked it. He liked it almost a little too much. Their self imposed rule of taking things slow was shaky at best. It was hard to keep any self control when Yahaba’s touch was like an incendiary. He burned like oil underneath his hands.

He treaded quietly as he approached the bedroom and stood in the open doorway until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The other boy was unconscious,curled up on his side and facing the wall. Kyoutani crawled in behind him,slotting their legs together and pressing his head against Yahaba’s neck. His hair was still a bit damp and he smirked as Yahaba jerked back against him with a startled noise.

“Mmnnnygod you’re an asshole.” he hissed and exhaled roughly, trying his best to pull away.

He pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck as an apology. “You love it, apparently.”

He groaned, voice groggy. “Debateable. How was work?”

“It was work, boring. M’tired.” He brushed his lips against his skin softly again.

“Mmmmnnn. Go sleep. You smell nice.” Yahaba craned his neck and and aimed for a kiss but his lips hit Kyoutani’s nose instead.

He scrunched it up at the contact and placed his hand against Yahaba’s neck so he could align their lips together. “I smell like a ball of fucking sunshine. I smell like you.“  
  
Yahaba hummed in agreement, rolling onto his side so he faced him properly. “ I like that.” He moved his hands to Kyoutani’s damp hair and grumbled. “You’re going to make the pillow damp, you’re the absolute worst.” he swiped his wet hand over Kyoutani’s bare stomach and smirked when he arched at the touch.

“You still like me though.”

“I do.” Yahaba kissed him again, sweet and soft and moved his hand up his stomach until it hovered over Kyoutani’s steady heartbeat. “I like you a lot.”  
  
Kyoutani huffed a breath of hot air against Yahaba’s lips. “same.”

“go to sleep, wet dog.” He tucked his head into the crook of his neck.

Eyes hooded he listened to Yahaba’s breathing even out, his fingers weaving through the strands of brown hair until his hand fell still. Yahaba made an excellent substitute for his sleeping pills, he made everything quiet and soft edges. He closed his eyes and drifted  off to sleep.

Later, neither boy heard the front door open and close as they slept. Nestled too close to each other, breathing in sync, they didn’t notice when a single figure crossed the upstairs hallway. They didn’t hear the telltale creaks of feet against the floorboard. Didn’t see how a figure lingered in their open doorway. How the figure watched their two tangled forms before it disappeared back down the hall.Neither Kyoutani or Yahaba would know until the morning;  by then it would be too late.

Yahaba wakes up first. It was weird how the act of sharing a bed with Kyoutani felt so normal. Like his small single bed had always had space for two boys. They went to bed close and somehow managed to wake up even closer. Kyoutani had his head pressed against Yahaba’s shoulder; the easy in and out of his breath tickled against his neck. His arm was thrown over Yahaba’s  stomach; all stretched limbs and carelessness. He loved that he could be this way around him, that he trusted Yahaba enough to be so defenceless.  He had never expected to get to this point, had thought he could be content with where they had been. Kyoutani showing up to the captaincy ceremony was his breaking point. He gave in and Kyoutani hadn’t let him regret it. Had met him every inch of the way.  

Yahaba had to pee though and his adoration for a sleeping Kyoutani was barely winning out against his discomfort. He pressed the lightest of kisses against the crown of Kyoutani’s head, slowly edging his arm off. Kyoutani grunted, hands balling into loose fists in response. He looked ready to fight him for even thinking of leaving. Yahaba couldn’t help but chuckle.  Waiting before he extracted himself completely, movements calculated and slow. When he was certain he wouldn’t wake Kyoutani he shuffled quickly to the washroom and relieved himself.

It was probably early enough to start their breakfast. He could have crawled back into bed but a glance into his doorway had him rethinking. Kyoutani was spread eagle on his mattress; there wasn’t any space left for him. He shook his head,smile on his face and stepped downstairs.

Yahaba didn’t mind cooking if he was honest.  It reminded him of mornings with his sister and even earlier memories with his mother. Before she traveled all the time and was barely home. She loved her job more than her family, it wasn’t even a secret. She could manage her work efficiently, a family wasn’t as easy and she never shied away from making it known. His sister always fought with her so Yahaba luckily missed the brunt of her disappointment. He knew he hadn’t escaped the burden of being their only son. And if she found out about him and Kyoutani…well, he wouldn’t let her.

He grabbed for the flour from the top shelf. He liked keeping his hands busy because it kept his mind quiet. There was comfort to be found in domesticity.  It made him feel significant and it gave him purpose. It wasn’t a feeling he struggled with anymore, he had grown out of it long before Kyoutani came along.  

His movements weren’t rushed, he had time. The kitchen was spotless. Kyoutani had really committed to wanting to help out and he was proud of him. He’d try to leave less of a mess next time. He felt a bit guilty, he still didn’t get enough sleep most days so he shouldn’t have gone out of his way to give him more work. But he wanted to keep him occupied with the idea he could help out. He was scared of anything that might trigger him leaving.

He settled on cooking pancakes but first he needed coffee. His hand reached out for the coffee pot and he immediately yanked it back, discovering it not only half full but still warm. His breath hitched in his throat and his outstretched fingers started to shake.

Who had made coffee?

Behind him a throat cleared, a gruff and familiar sound. Yahaba hesitated, shoulders hunching together before he slowly turned around and faced his father. It was instinct that had him bowing his head.

Hitoshi Yahaba shared few features with his son. His hair was closely cropped to his head where Shigeru’s had grown to the point that he was constantly pushing it out of his face.Bright brown eyes were replaced by a dull shade of blue.  He was thin where Shigeru was toned and the only thing that worked in his favour was his imposing height. It was no secret in the Yahaba household that everyone took their charming looks from their mother.

Hitoshi surveyed his son, his expression calm, controlled and blank. A stark contrast to Shigeru’s worried grimace. Shigeru would have preferred he looked angry, anything to give him an indication of what his father was thinking.

He didn’t dare voice what was really on his mind.  When did you get home? Did you see? Will you make him leave?

Please don’t take this away from us.

Instead he barely managed to croak out, “Is mother with you?”

It was one thing to be discovered by his father, it was a worse thing to be found by his mother.

Both of them knew it.

Hitoshi smiled, and gave Shigeru a pointed look. He clapped him on the shoulder and ruffled his already disheveled hair. “ Good morning to you too, son. Yes Florence was  beautiful thank you for asking. Of course you can come next time. The flight was long and I’m just grateful to be home. Of course I missed you too.” he paused and smiled. “ Your mother ran into some college friends and told me to head home early. She’ll be back monday night as planned.”

Shigeru simply kept his head bowed  and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “ Dad, I’m sorry. I…” he trailed off,teeth dug into his lip.

Hitoshi nodded and gave him another clap on his back, this one forceful enough to send Shigeru stumbling forward. “ Don’t worry about it son. Make yourself some coffee and we’re going to talk about you and your friend upstairs.”

Shigeru nodded his throat going dry, “yes sir.”

“Look at you being all formal.” Hitoshi laughed and disappeared from the kitchen to their family room.

Shigeru exhaled, hunching over the counter and gripping it tight for support. His father didn’t seem angry but this wasn’t how he had planned to introduce Kyoutani. He definitely wasn’t going to mention that they were sleeping together. Considering that the farthest they’d gone was kissing and touches above waist level, it probably looked worse to an outsider. He cursed Kyoutani for not wearing a shirt like a normal person, he cursed himself for encouraging it.  His hands fumbled over the coffee pot as he went through the motions of  making coffee. He hoped Kyoutani would continue to sleep while he was interrogated by his father. If anyone was worse with confrontation it was him, his earlier fear was becoming such a close reality.

He took as much time as he could to put off going to the living room. When he entered his father looked at him expectantly from across the room. He took a sip of his coffee before stating “ Calm down Shige. You’re acting like you broke one of your mother’s french vases again. I just want to know why our perfectly good guest room isn’t being used. It must be awfully cramped on that single bed of yours.” He made a vague gesture with his hand, happy to let Yahaba fill in the blanks. “ I don’t really care that you’re…”

“Bisexual?” Yahaba offered taking a long sip of his coffee, eyes locking on the carpet. Kyoutani hadn’t been the first boy he’d been caught with and Shigeru was glad. He had been so much younger then, a little less sure of himself. That time it had been his mother.

Hitoshi smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would have said young.”

“It’s not like it’s a phase dad,” he couldn’t help that his voice was getting defensive,” It’s not like that at all. He’s important to me and I…I really care about him. So don’t kick him out, please. He really does need a place to stay.” He exhaled and gave a sad shake of his head. “We were going to stop before you got back anyways, we were just sleeping…”

“ Hey hey, I didn’t say anything about kicking him out. I don’t want you making choices you’ll regret. Your mother and I… we’ve left you alone a lot. I just want to make sure this boy isn’t taking advantage of you.”

Yahaba forced a laugh, fingers gripping tight on his coffee mug. The amount of work it had taken for Kyoutani to trust him. All the fighting they would lapse into, it had been like baiting a wild animal. Kyoutani would have hated that analogy and Yahaba didn’t favour it either. But Taking advantage was the last thing Kyoutani was doing. “He’s not, you don’t understand.”

“That’s why we’re having this conversation Shigeru. You’re lucky your mother didn’t see you.” He sighed, a hand passing over his face. “ Why is he unable to stay with his family exactly?”

“He doesn’t have…any.”

“No one?”  
  
“His mom passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must have been very hard on him.”  
  
Yahaba nodded his head, staring into his coffee mug. He didn’t know if he should tell his father about Kyoutani’s dad. He didn’t know if he could. He didn’t want to cross a line that Kyoutani wouldn’t let him come back from. It didn’t help that Yahaba hated him. He could never forgive him for what he had put Kyoutani through, for abandoning him, hurting him.  “It was. Dad, he’s been through a lot. I want to respect that. If he feels like I or he can tell you more I will but… I just want him to be okay. Him staying here is good for him. For me, too. ”

Hitoshi stared at Yahaba for what seemed like minutes. His expression was unreadable and it did nothing to help Yahaba’s anxiety. He couldn’t let Kyoutani go back to Hiroshi’s house. He wouldn’t do that to him. He would threaten to leave if his father kicked him out. He had some savings, they were for university but–

“Keep him in the guest room.”  
  
Yahaba blinked, locking eyes with his father.   
  
Hitoshi continued, “ When your mother and I are home he needs to sleep in the guest room. I can’t say I don’t care what you two get up to when we aren’t here, but I can’t stop you. I won’t say a single thing about you two to your mother, lord knows she won’t be as forgiving. But know that she’s going to figure it out.”

“dad…”

“Son, I just want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

“You can’t just let your happiness be determined by another person. I don’t want you to figure that out the hard way. The same goes for that boy.”  
  
“It’s not just him, I know that,” Yahaba stared in the bottom of his cup. “ I’m going to be captain of the volleyball team next term, y’know? Kyoutani is the team’s ace.”

Hiroshi’s eyebrow quirked and he smiled. “ Really? I’m proud of you.”  
  
“You and mom could come watch us play a match sometime. I know you’re busy and you’re probably already booking a flight to another city for work…but I’d like that, y’know?”

“I can’t speak for your mother Shi-chan, you know how she is about her job. But I’ll try.” he winked, “ ill try to convince her too. I got her to marry me so that must count for something.”

Yahaba laughed into his coffee cup. “ Thanks, dad.”

“Thank me with breakfast. That was what you were doing, right? “  
  
“Pancakes.”

“Well get to it, y’know how I like them.”

Yahaba shook his head, he felt relieved. It could have gone so much worse. “Yes sir.”

Yahaba disappeared into the kitchen and let out a shuddering breath. Talking with his dad hadn’t been horrible but it didn’t settle the fact he hadn’t been prepared for it. He had been planning  out how to introduce kyoutani all week and this had deflated all of those ideas. He wanted to go to him, crawl back into bed and not deal with this. But that would involve walking past his dad and It was better to feed him first.

He set to work on the pancakes he had promised. If anything it helped quiet the thoughts on his family.  He knew Kyoutani would eat them even if they were burnt. Shigeru knew he wasn’t picky but he didn’t think It was due to an easy going nature. There was nothing easy about Kyoutani.

His father liked them plain with melted butter and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. If they were anything less than golden brown they would go unfinished. He delivered them when they were finished, placing the plate in front of him. He gave his father a weak grin and said, “ one order of apology pancakes.”

He groaned in delight and grinned at him. “ Thank you. Have I told you you’re my favourite son?”

“I’m your only son.”

“exactly.  He paused and leveled Shigeru with a look as he chewed. “ You can’t keep him locked away like a princess. I want to meet him. why don’t you bring him down for breakfast.”

Shigeru must have made a face because his father gave him a chastised look.

“Fine. “

He didn’t know how Kyoutani was going to react, he knew he hadn’t been ecstatic about meeting his family to begin with. Family, was a sore subject. Kyoutani already felt out of place, it was in the way he hesitated doing the simplest things. How he had laughed about his fear of the key not working. Like Yahaba could be that cruel to him. It forced him to remember that there were those that had been.

 

**Author's Note:**

> yell @ me on [tumblr](http://cleiioo.tumblr.com/)!


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